


my imagination will feed my hungry heart

by toastweasel



Series: The Gallaro Equation [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, connie williams is a heartthrob on wheels, i hope you like butch lesbians!, two middle aged sciencey lesbians fall in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-19 00:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastweasel/pseuds/toastweasel
Summary: The love story of one Dr. Rebecca Gallaro and her Harley-driving, butch dyke graduate student Connie Williams. From meeting to marriage, and everything in between.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holtzbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzbabe/gifts).



> This one's for holtzbabe, my amazing enabler. She helped inspire this story, acted as a soundboard, and was my #1 Connie fan when Connie was just an idea in my head. Maddie has been instrumental in supporting the spiraling, twisting madness that became The Gallaro Equation and I cannot thank her enough for all the support and, indeed, all the love.
> 
> Title borrowed from "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" as sung by k.d. lang.

Dr. Rebecca Gallaro looks over the four new graduate students sitting in front of her. She rarely gets control over who gets assigned to her lab, but she knows she will get fairly competent people, otherwise the director will hear from her. She has already looked at all of their applications—their resumes together are impressive, but to work for her they generally have to be.

“I’m sure you have all heard of exactly who I am and what kind of lab I run,” she says in way of greeting, and hands each of them a packet of the rules, regulations, and various other information about her lab. It is several pages thick.

Only one of them starts looking at it—the one who introduced herself as Connie Williams when she walked in the door, although her resume and application says ‘Colleen.’ She’s around Rebecca’s age, if the engineer had to guess, a returning student. Her resume details a thirteen year career as an operator for the Pilgrim Nuclear Power Station before reapplying to MIT for a Masters of Science in Nuclear Science and Engineering with a focus in nuclear security. She is the only one on the four grad students with any real world experience. The other three grad students, all fresh out of undergrad from varying institutions around the country, look between Rebecca and the packet she has given them with something approaching sheer terror.

Rebecca is glad her reputation precedes her. It weeds out the weak. She crosses her arms over her chest and asks brusquely, “Any questions?”

The older woman, Colleen, raises her hand. “Are you going to be assigning us specific roles in the lab or are we going to research on our own recognizance once given a goal?”

It was actually a legitimate question. Rebecca is almost impressed. Usually the first questions out of her grad students’ mouths are about hours, MIT healthcare, and start times. “A bit of both,” she admits, “depending on what is demanded at the time. Sometimes the five of us will work together, other times we will split to tackle issues from different directions. Is that clear?”

All four nod.

“All I ask is that each of you take the time to write out and submit a report each day you work. The report should detail your work for the day so I can track your progress.”

“Fair enough,” the operator replies.

Rebecca appraises her. “Colleen, is it?”

“Most people just call me Connie.”

Rebecca notes the preference and wonders idly if it has something to do with the fact this woman has short hair and wears button ups and slacks. If it walks like a butch, talks like a butch, and looks like a butch…. She lets that train of thought go; it is not her business, and she knows it. Her rules about keeping lab work and personal lives separate exist for a reason.

The engineer clears her throat. “Very well. If there are no further questions, I will leave the four of you to figure out a work schedule for yourselves to come in. Please remember that you will not be allowed into the lab without safety goggles and a lab coat, so if you don’t have those items, please be sure to get them by your first day. My office number is in the packet, please come get me when you are done so I can lock the lab.”

The four graduate students turn to each other to cross reference their schedules, and Rebecca heads off down the hall to her office. She has to review the terms of their grant to see exactly how each of these students might be able to apply themselves in the best way. She is interested to see how Connie, already a seasoned member of the workforce, deals with the experimental nature of her nuclear engineering lab.

-/-

Connie immediately proves an interesting character to have in the lab. She still works a part time job at Pilgrim so she is only in the lab about twice a week. Some graduate students spread their hours over several days, so they are always in the lab, but not Connie. Instead, the operator completes her ten hours a week in two five hour work blocks on Tuesdays and Thursdays, directly after her eight o’clock in the morning Nuclear Technology and Society class.

Rebecca is impressed by her work ethic—she often shows up when Rebecca unlocks the lab at seven in the morning to drop off her bag in her locker and get out her notebooks. The rest of the grad students often don’t roll in until after ten.

Connie quickly proves to be a much needed addition to the lab. She’s intelligent, and has a practical bent that comes from starting in the industry rather than starting in academia. Rebecca does not mind it as much as she usually does. In Rebecca’s experience the practical types usually do not listen to reason, but Connie proves amenable enough to anything if given proper explanation or application of logic. It is a much appreciated quality.

The thing that Rebecca does not like so much is that Connie always manages to get the lab talking. When she is in the lab, it is generally a bit noisy, as Connie proves to be apt at the skill of coaxing people into conversation. She rarely talks, but she gets other people talking. However, all four of her graduate students seem capable of talking and working at the same time, so Rebecca says little. There are worse things than a bonded lab.

Rebecca goes in to unlock the lab one morning and finds Connie there already, leaning against the wall, twirling her key ring idly around her fingers and reading something that looks suspiciously like a work report. At the sound of Rebecca’s footsteps on the linoleum, she looks up. When she sees that it’s Rebecca, she smiles.

“Mornin’, Doc.”

“Good morning,” she replies stiffly. Rebecca is not much of a talker to begin with, so she seems to be the only person in the lab that can resist Connie’s chatter charms.

Connie seems to take that as a personal challenge. As Rebecca unlocks the lab she asks, “Good night?”

“Same as ever.”

Connie makes a bit of a face. Rebecca’s strict lab/personal life divide apparently extends to the state of one’s life outside the lab as well. So she tries again. As the two of them open their lockers, Connie says, “I’ll get started on that ionization research after Bell’s lecture.”

“Compare notes with Julian, as he is headed in much the same direction.”

“You got it.” Connie puts away her bag, grabs her notebook, then snaps the lock shut on her locker. Her ever present carabiner keychain is clipped onto her belt loop. “Catch you later, Doc.”

She heads off to class, leaving Rebecca in a suddenly empty and quiet nuclear engineering laboratory.

-/-

The theoretical science her lab puts out is good, but as always, translating experimental science into practical engineering proves tricky. Although Rebecca could step in and assist, she often lets graduate students bumble through themselves until it becomes absolutely certain she needs to intervene. It is through this way, she finds, that her students learn best, so she leaves them to it.

Connie proves handy as well as practical. Out of the lot of them, she is the one with the most build experience under her belt. Between her, Ed, and Monica, they get a full set of blueprints and a working prototype finished a week before the deadline. Julian is late with the write up, but Rebecca excuses it on the fact he has contracted the flu.

Rebecca inspects the blueprints and the prototype at their bi-monthly lab meeting, marking discrepancies on the blueprints with a red pencil. She suggests a few corrections to the prototype, which Ed hurriedly writes down. Connie mostly nods along, except to occasionally interject with a cost figure or other issue she thinks Rebecca needs to consider.

At the end of the meeting, Connie, Ed, and Monica discuss next steps until Rebecca chivvies them out of the lab at eight. They all trade their lab coats for winter jackets, as it is nearing holiday recess and the weather outside has turned bitter. Rebecca notices Connie pulls on a thick leather jacket over a lined Carhartt sweater and her usual plaid fleece button down.

The explanation for Connie’s layering is quickly apparent. There is a motorcycle parked in the building’s parking lot, which they all exit into via the fire stair by their lab. The four disperse; Ed and Monica head for their off-campus housing while Rebecca walks towards her car in the staff parking lot. Connie heads for the motorcycle, pulling on gloves as she goes.

Rebecca half-watches her as she unlocks her car. Connie swing herself onto the bike, pulling a balaclava and goggles on before snapping on a helmet. As Rebecca waits for her windshield to defrost, Connie starts her bike and roars out of the parking lot, leaving the engineer alone to question her grad student’s sanity for riding a motorcycle in the dead of Boston winter.

-/-

Every year during finals, without fail, a coffee maker appears in the corner of the lab next to the microwave labeled “for experiments only – do not use to heat food.” Rebecca, despite having a very low tolerance for food in the lab, lets the coffee maker live there during finals. It is easier that way. Otherwise her graduate students disappear for hours at a time to get coffee from the café and then get distracted on the way back. As long as they keep it in a sealed container, she lets them have it for the two weeks they need it most.

Two days after the coffee maker shows up this semester, so does an electric kettle and a box of Darjeeling oolong tea. Rebecca soon finds out it belongs to Connie, as the grad student grabs it and takes it down the hall to fill almost as soon as she comes in.

“I do believe an engineering student who runs on anything but coffee is illegal,” she says in a dry deadpan as Connie comes back into the lab with a kettle full of water.

 “I know, I know. It’s sacrilegious, but I can’t stand the stuff,” Connie says as she sets the kettle on its base to heat. When she turns around, her face is red; Rebecca almost feels guilty until she realizes the flush is from a long motorcycle ride in the cold and not from embarrassment. Besides, the way Connie is smiling it would be hard to interpret her feelings as any way other than happy. “Smells great, but I hate the taste.”

Rebecca scoffs in amusement, and goes over to where she started a pot of coffee for the lab. She knows it is technically Monica’s coffee and Julian’s coffee pot, but considering she is bending the rules and allowing the pot in _her_ lab in the first place, she feels a cup of coffee once in a while i­s payment for her leniency. She pours herself a measure into her thermos, in which she has already prepared milk.

“You don’t take it black like a _true_ engineer?” Connie teases, watching Rebecca stir the coffee and milk together. “Is your doctorate a fake? Have you been pretending all this time?”

The engineer in question shoots Connie a look over her glasses. “A true Bostonian takes it with milk.”

Connie lets out a bark of surprised laughter, a smile lighting up her face. “I suppose you’re right. Exceptions must be made.”

Rebecca salutes her with her thermos, a knowing look on her face. Then she goes over to her station to sit and start work for the day, leaving Connie to brew her tea.

-/-

A frustrating meeting with the Director of Nuclear Science, in which funds that were rightfully Rebecca’s were transferred to a new professor on the grounds that he needed them (but were, privately Rebecca considered, transferred because the new professor had a penis), drives Rebecca across the town to an old haunt. She needs a drink, a good drink, and she is out of alcohol at home. With neither the patience nor the energy to brave the grocery store for gin and vermouth, she instead takes the T to Jamaica Plains.

The name of her old bar has changed, but as Rebecca steps inside she quickly discerns the clientele has not. The bar is full of lesbians. She takes a seat at the bar and orders a gin martini, then rubs at the tension headache forming in the back of her neck. She hates the constant fight it requires to be a woman in engineering—if one lets their guard down for even a second, it’s over. Or, in this case, one finally gets comfortable with her position as a lab director only to have her funding for the next semester slashed in half.

A beer is set down on the bar beside her, startling her out of her rare moment of self-pity. She barely has time to turn to see the face of the beer owner before a familiar voice says, “Fancy seeing you here, Doc.”

Sure enough, Connie Williams is standing beside her. Her presence is so out of context for Rebecca that it takes her a moment to realize it is her. She stares. Connie is grinning; Rebecca realizes how nice of a smile it really is.

With some difficulty, Rebecca recovers her aplomb.  Or, she likes to think she does, but the only thing she manages to come up with is, “What are _you_ doing here?”

The grad student laughs. “Well, this is a lesbian bar, and I happen to be a lesbian who needed a beer after work, so here I am.”

“…Is that so?” Rebecca had guessed at Connie’s sexuality, of course. The woman practically exuded butch confidence, not to mention her dress and mode of transportation, but Rebecca knows better than to presume anything. Most people would look at her and discredit her merit because they presumed a woman knew nothing about science.

“Yup.” Connie leans on the bar. “What about you, Doc? You’re not exactly this bar’s type.”

Rebecca cannot help but be affronted. She draws herself up and asks a bit haughtily, “Am I not?”

Connie pauses, blinks, then looks at Rebecca as if seeing her for the first time. “No shit?”

Rebecca scowls a little. “Problem?”

“’Course not!” she exclaims, taking a seat one stool over. “You just pass really well.”

“Well we can’t all be Harley-riding butch dykes.”

The butch dyke in question laughs. “No, we can’t.”

 The bartender comes with Rebecca’s martini, which she takes and sips at. She can feel Connie watching her every move and as a result becomes a bit self-conscious, or at least very self-aware. She has been scrutinized her entire life, but never by a butch graduate student who now knows the very reason the separation of personal lives and laboratory science rule exists for her lab in the first place. For the first time in more than a decade, Rebecca Gallaro feels vulnerable.

Connie takes a sip from her beer, then asks, “If you’re a lesbian, and you know this place is a lesbian bar, why don’t I see you here more often?”

Rebecca arches an eyebrow. “Is this a regular haunt of yours?”

“For fifteen years or so, yeah.”

Rebecca does the math; she stopped going to bars in the mid-1970s. Connie would have found the place soon after she quit the scene. Boston’s lesbian community is small, but when one is no longer active in the community, one cannot know all the faces. It is no wonder she’s never met Connie before.

“Interesting,” is all she offers up.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Connie is not going to let her avoid it. “How come I’ve never seen you in here before?”

“I’m not really the bar type,” she replies stiffly.

“But you’re here, which means you know it exists,” the biker persists. “And this place is quite the hike from MIT.”

Rebecca feels like they are getting into terribly dangerous personal territory. She gets defensive. “What’s your point?”

Connie can tell it is a touchy subject. She softens her inquiry. “What made you stop coming?”

“Bar raids.”

The butch blinks. Digests. “Okay then…so why’d you come here in the first place if you’re not the bar type? GLF meetings?”

Rebecca presses her lips together and says nothing. Her history of political activism is _definitely_ personal territory.

Connie’s eyes widen at her telling silence. “ _Really?_ I was mostly joking.”

The engineer sighs. “It was a long time ago.”

“Don’t say that. I feel old enough without thinking about how old I was in the 1970s.”

Rebecca scoffs. “Tell me about it.”

Connie grins and takes a sip of her beer. Rebecca notices it’s a pale ale. She finds that interesting, as many of the butch lesbians she knew from her bar days only drank dark lagers.

“So why are you here tonight?” the butch asks. “Not exactly any GLF meetings going on anymore.”

Rebecca sighs again. She knows for a fact Connie will just keep asking her questions, because that is what she does. And tonight, Rebecca is simply too tired to put up much resistance. So she answers. “It has been a long day.”

“You had that meeting with the director, right?” Rebecca gives her a long, measured look which Connie interprets perfectly. “Ah. I see.”

“Indeed.”

Connie drains the rest of her beer. “Fuck academia.”

Rebecca snorts. “Fuck male academics is more like it.”

“Why do you think I put off the Masters so long?” Connie asks, motioning to the bartender for another beer. “Glad I got put in your lab. Probably would have intimidated a male instructor by simply existing.”

Rebecca hides her smile by sipping at her martini. “Yes, I don’t think Dr. Bell would handle a butch lesbian in his lab very well.”

Connie hums, then pauses and looks at her in that careful way Rebecca has come to associate with the grad student thinking. “Do they know that you’re gay?”

“No,” she says steely, “and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” The bartender comes back with Connie’s second beer, which she takes a long draught out of. “So…political activism?”

“More questions. Do you ever run out?”

Connie shrugs. “When the person isn’t interesting.” She pauses. “But even then, most people have stories to tell. And I think there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”

Rebecca glances at her. She cannot tell if the butch is flirting or just loosening up from her alcohol. Or both. She hopes it is only the alcohol loosening her tongue—a handsome butch dyke bent on flirting with her is the last thing she needs. Especially when that butch dyke happens to be one of her grad students.

She clears her throat, trying not to go down that line of thought. “Most people, I think, are more than meets the eyes.”

Connie inclines her head. “You’re the only person in the lab I haven’t gotten to know.”

For some reason that makes Rebecca swallow nervously. Most people don’t attempt to get to know her. The stern, indifferent façade she puts up often prevents it. Her students generally skirt around the edges, being just friendly enough to be polite, but in a nervous way. They never try to breach the wall.

Connie is nothing close to that—she’s direct, honest, friendly, and above all else, curious. Rebecca does not know if this way of going about life comes with the experience of age, or simply just how Connie is. They are all charming characteristics, but Rebecca is a hard one to charm.

“So, what d’ya say, Doc?” Connie continues when Rebecca says nothing. “Since I’ll probably never see you outside of the lab like this again, and you’ve got that damn rule…tell me a little about yourself.”

Rebecca is stiff. “Not much to tell.”

The butch scoffs. “Bullshit. Third female professor at MIT to ever be given a tenured position, well respected nuclear engineer who has put out many well received articles on experimental engineering, the author on two books on the subject, invited to speak internationally on her work several times, a past as a political activist in a game changing gay rights movement…I think there’s plenty to tell.”

Rebecca has never had all of her accomplishments laid out in front of her like this before. To her they were never really accomplishments; they were just things she had to do to get to where she wanted to be. She reaches for her martini and drains it. “When you put it like that…”

Connie grins, then softens. “I’m not going to push you, obviously…but if you’d tell me even one thing, I’d appreciate it.”

Rebecca fiddles with the stem of her martini, weighing her choices. Then, she sighs. She’d give her something. “I’ve attended every National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights.”

“No shit. Even the one in April?” Rebecca nods. “So not only were you an activist in the past, you’re still one today.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I am nowhere near as active as I should be.”

“Why not?”

Rebecca gives her a level look. “The department would look for any excuse to fire me, tenure be damned. I’m not up for giving them the opportunity.”

Connie pauses, then a look of dawning comprehension appears on her face. “The bar raids...”

“Just so.” Rebecca glances at her watch, then swears softly. It’s late—very late. Late enough for the T to have shut down for the evening.

“What’s wrong?”

“Last train downtown left ten minutes ago.” Rebecca pinches the bridge of her nose. This is not what she needed tonight. “I’ll have to get the bartender to call a cab.”

Connie frowns and checks her own watch. “If you don’t live far, and don’t mind a bit of a cold ride, I can give you a lift on my bike.”

“You’ve had two beers,” Rebecca replies, not at all interested in getting into an accident this late at night.

“One and a half, and on a full stomach over three hours,” Connie points out. “Not to mention I weigh significantly more than most women, so the alcohol affects me less. I promise you, I would not offer to drive you if I did not think I was safe.”

Rebecca hedges. Connie seems perfectly lucid, and she trusts a woman of her own age to know her limits better than a college senior. She also really does not want to pay forty dollars for a cab back home. She sighs. “Fine.”

“Great. Do you want to settle out now or later?”

Rebecca reaches for her purse. “Now. I need to get home.”

Connie nods and reaches for her own wallet. They pay their respective tabs, put on their coats, then Connie leads her out back to where she has parked her bike. It’s a beautiful one, all studded leather, black accents, and shiny chrome. Connie obviously takes very good care of it. “Even ridden before?”

“A long time ago.”

The butch glances at her, but doesn’t say anything, only stores the information away for later. She opens one of her saddlebags and pulls out a helmet. “Sorry, I don’t have a spare. But don’t worry, I won’t get in a crash.”

“That’s very reassuring,” Rebecca states, but gamely loops her purse over her neck. Connie swings herself on, presses a few things that Rebecca only has a basic working understanding of, then kicks the engine to life. The motorcycle roars, breaking the quiet chill of the night.

Oh, her neighbors are going to _hate_ her.

Rebecca swings herself into the passenger seat and pulls her feet up on the foot holds. It has been ages since she’s ridden on the back of a butch’s motorcycle. The vibrating roar underneath her is old territory, familiar and foreign at the same time. She leans in and grasps firmly on Connie’s jacket; an intimate embrace, but a necessary one, least she topple off the back.

“Ready?” Connie calls back over the noise of the engine.

Rebecca nods and taps her side, the indication that she is.

Connie grins. “Where am I headed?”

“South End. Tremont Street.”

“Gotcha.” If Connie is surprised by the location of her house, she says nothing, only pulls her feet up and pulls out. She is slow at first, but when it is clear Rebecca is as experienced a passenger as she says she is, she takes the bike up to road speed.

True to her word, the ride is chilly, but Connie’s large frame blocks the worst of the wind. What eddies around them as they ride plays havoc with her hair, but a full day’s work has already managed it anyway. Connie is a careful driver, stopping on yellows instead of speeding through them, checking intersections twice before starting through a new green, obeying the speed limit perfectly. Rebecca is greatly appreciative of this; she’s ridden with butches before who broke all the laws and disregarded the safety of themselves and their passengers because they thought they were the hottest shit on two wheels. Those relationships tended not to last very long.

As they stop at a light along Tremont Street, Rebecca taps Connie’s shoulder. She leans back to hear her. “Worchester Street. Turn after the church. Number seventy three.”

Connie gives her a thumbs up. They roar into her neighborhood a little past two, but Connie quickly kills the engine as soon as they are outside her townhouse. The butch takes off her helmet and looks around.

“Damn. Nice neighborhood.”

“It was my mother’s,” Rebecca says, a bit embarrassed, getting off the back and fishing for her keys in her purse. Why does she care what Connie might think of her house, and by extension, her? She brushes off the feeling, finds her keys, then straightens. “Well, I appreciate the ride. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

“Good night, Connie.”

“’Night, Doc. See you Tuesday. Have a good weekend.”

Rebecca nods, then heads up the stairs to her front porch. Connie waits as she unlocks the door and pushes through. Only after Rebecca has closed the front door does she hear the sound of Connie’s motorcycle start up again. She waits until she hears Connie pull out and head down the block, then locks the front door and heads upstairs to get ready for bed.


	2. Part 2

Connie is flirting with her. She is not sure if it is intentional or not, the flirting, but ever since their conversation at the bar Rebecca has become aware to it. It’s subtle, and almost never in front of other people, but it is definitely there. Rebecca does not know how she does it, considering the operator does not bring up a single thing from their bar conversation to reference to.

She’s almost impressed. She finds herself on the verge of flirting back several times, but stops herself just short every time. She constantly has to remind herself that Connie is her _grad student_ , not just any butch dyke from a bar. She knows Connie knows that she is making headway, though, because every once and a while someone will say something and Connie and Rebecca will share _a look._ Or Rebecca will smile at something Connie says. Each and every time it happens the butch looks like she has won the fucking lottery.

Around the end of February, Rebecca realizes the way Connie looks at her has changed. It’s no longer with the respect one gives a colleague—instead, it is different. When she watches her speak it is like she has hung stars in the sky (although the practical contradictions still come just as often, especially once Rebecca informs them of the budget cut). The butch starts dressing up a bit more in the lab; her hair is obviously styled every morning, despite her morning rides. Vests often pair up with her button ups under her lab coat.

Rebecca notices and is pained. She likes Connie. Perhaps more than she should. She is smart, attractive, respectful, and obviously a good person. In any other circumstances, that would be perfect qualifications for Rebecca to attempt something more, should she be so inclined. But the butch is her grad student, a student worker under her employ and tutelage in her lab, and will be for some time. Any relationship between them would be unethical, not to mention a departmental nightmare should someone find out.

She should nip this in the bud. She knows she should. But she can’t bring herself to do so.

One day Connie stops her in the parking lot. It’s a beautiful, if unseasonably warm, March evening. Rebecca’s coat is draped over her arm.

“Hey, Doc. Have a question for you.”

Rebecca looks over at her. Connie’s leather messenger bag is swung over her shoulder, her own coat tucked underneath the strap. The sleeves of her shirt are rolled up. She looks handsome in an effortless way that Rebecca has come to love (and hate) her for.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, uh, you ever eat at the Indian place in Cambridge? The one on Broad Canal Way?”

The doctor narrows her eyes in suspicion. “No…”

Connie scruffs at the back of her head with a large hand. “Look, I know it’s not very professional, but you aren’t giving me a grade or anything so…”

Fuck. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“You maybe want to get something to eat there sometime? On a date?”

Rebecca’s stomach clenches. Goddamit, she asked. She takes a calming breath to quell the racing of her heart. She knows what she has to do. She tries to let her down easily. “I’m sorry, Connie, but I…have a policy on not dating students. Even if they are not technically my own.”

Connie’s face falters for just a second. She sighs. “I figured you’d say that.”

Rebecca feels the need to add on to her comment. “It’s not…you’re a good butch, Connie. If you were not working in my lab…”

“I understand,” she says quickly. “Really. It’s fine. Thanks anyway, Doc. See you later.”

Connie turns on her heel and walks away, towards her bike. The slump in her shoulders does not go unnoticed; it breaks Rebecca’s heart.

-/-

Connie does not flirt as much after that. Occasionally, something will slip, and she says something that she then looks like she instantly regrets. The sting of Rebecca’s rejection, however anticipated it might have been, leaves her a little less jovial and a lot less likely to meet Rebecca’s eye.

She’s professional about it. They both are. They keep their distance, and Connie’s work is still good, so it is not like it is affecting the lab. But it’s awkward between them now, a little bit nicer than stilted. Connie keeps their conversations to their research and work related things, along with her usual morning and evening pleasantries. When Rebecca does catch her eye, the look she is often treated to is pained; the spark in her eyes is gone.

Rebecca aches.

Despite not knowing exactly what happened between the two of them, the other graduate students notice. Rumors, mostly accurate, swirl. Soon it is the talk of the department that the obviously lesbian grad student attempted to ask out the formidable Dr. Gallaro. That Dr. Gallaro was offended by the proposition, and now is looking for a way to have her transferred. That the Dean of the Engineering Department is looking into the matter. Only the first one is true, but rumors have a way of taking lives of their own.

Connie is not in the building much, with what her job at Pilgrim, so she is not as aware of the rumors as Rebecca is. But Rebecca hears it all. As she comes around the corner in a hallway. When she passes by an office. When her door is partially open and people discuss it openly in the hallway. What she hears rankles her, but she keeps her mouth shut, because she can’t have the _true_ reason why she turned Connie down out for public consumption.

She hears someone scoff at the idea that she herself might be a lesbian, which is a bit of a comfort. The secret of her sexuality is still safe, but at the expense of Connie’s mockery. The thought curdles her stomach.

Connie comes into the lab one afternoon looking annoyed. The tips of her ears are bright red, and she closes her locker a bit more forcefully than usual. Rebecca has an idea to what probably happened.

“Ignore them,” she advises, which is probably the first non-engineering thing she’s said to Connie in over a month. Her words teeter dangerously close to breaking the personal lives rule of her lab, but it is not like there is anybody else in the lab yet. Monica does not start work until noon. “It will die out soon enough.”

Connie looks over at her and appears impressed by her perceptiveness.

Rebecca nods at her once, probably a bit more curt than strictly necessary, the returns to the thick tome of articles she had pulled from the library for research purposes. She listens to Connie pull on her lab coat, then walk over to her station to start fiddling with their newest prototype. Rebecca leaves her to it, and starts taking notes on a legal pad so she can figure out the complex calculations they’ll need later.

-/-

Somehow they make it through the rest of the semester. Summer dawns, muggy and hot. The grad students go home, which leaves Rebecca alone in the lab. This is good, because she is starting to write her next book. She’s been asked to write a nuclear engineering textbook for the school, and she needs the quiet of summer to collect material, research, and write.

After a relatively late night (for the summer) she goes out to her car and finds that it won’t start. And of course it happens on a night she is starving and tired. All she wants to do is get home. With a growl she gets out of her car, rolls up her sleeves, and pops the hood. Thankfully the light is still good enough she can see. She hopes it is something simple.

It isn’t. She’s been fiddling for about five minutes when someone knocks on the roof of her car. “Hey, you need some help?”

Rebecca looks up and Connie is standing there, looking a little hesitant. Because of course she is. At Rebecca’s look of shock Connie says, “I was dropping off my tuition check for next year and...” She trails off, nodding at the exposed engine. “What’s wrong with it?”

“No clue.” Rebecca swipes a hand across her running nose, leaving a trail of grease across the bridge. “It’s none of the usual things.”

“Which are?”

“Injector fluid, spark plugs. It’s picky.”

Connie snorts. “Can I take a look?”

Rebecca pulls away from the engine. “Be my guest.”

Connie sets aside her bag, rolls up her own sleeves, and dives right in. With her readiness with tools in the lab, and the fact that her bike was so well maintained, it seems only natural that she is good with mechanics, too. “How old is the car?”

“It’s a ‘76.”

“Eighteen? Damn. It’s in pretty good shape for eighteen.”

Rebecca would cross her arms over her chest, but does not want to get engine grease all over her blouse. “I take good care of it.”

“Clearly, if it has lived this long.” Connie inspects the engine with a frown. “Is this a CCVC or standard engine?”

“CCVC.”

“The good ‘ole Compound Vortex Controlled Combustion engine. My friend has one of these in her bike, and you’re right, they’re a pain in the ass.” The butch fusses with the pistons, but finds nothing there, or on the belts. After searching with no avail for about ten more minutes, she pulls out and shakes her head. “I’ve got nothin’. This hasn’t failed in any way I’ve ever seen before. You’ll have to get it towed to a mechanic.”

Rebecca sighs. She hands over the rag she had pulled out of the trunk in the back while Connie was working. The butch wipes the grease off her hands.

“Sorry I couldn’t fix it,” Connie says sincerely, tossing the rag into the hatchback at Rebecca’s instruction. The butch pauses, looking over to where her bike was parked across the lot. “It’s a nice night, but if you don’t want to walk back to South End, I can give you a lift to your place.”

The offer hangs heavy in the air between them. Rebecca swallows. She wonders if the offer is something more. She really does not want to walk. Are they getting back to ‘normal?’

“Sure,” she finds herself saying.

Connie nods. “Great. Lock up and come over to the bike when you’re ready.”

Rebecca nods. Connie ambles off towards her bike, bag in hang, rolling the sleeves of her shirt back down. Rebecca takes what she needs out of her car and locks it, then heads after Connie. The butch is just finishing putting her bag and jacket in one of the saddlebags.

“Still don’t have a helmet for you,” she says apologetically.

“If you’re going to be making this a habit, perhaps you should invest.”

Connie laughs and swings herself onto the bike. Once she has put on her helmet and started the bike, Rebecca gets on the back. Connie back is warm and strong in front of her; she smells good, too. Rebecca has to resist leaning in too close as Connie starts out of the parking lot.

Even after several months of awkwardness and stilted conversation, her resolve weakens the second they are close. They were almost back to their pre-question banter. Rebecca has missed it more than she lets on.

The ride bike to her townhouse is only fifteen minutes, but is plenty time enough for Rebecca to stew. Connie pulls up in front and kills the engine, stabilizing the bike and letting Rebecca get off.

“Hope your car situation gets sorted out.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca pauses, taking longer than necessary to find her keys, stalling. She knows what she wants. Has known for several months. Oh, fuck it. She isn’t getting any younger. “Connie?”

“Hmm?”

“If your offer for Indian is still open...I’m free at eight o’clock on Friday.”

Connie whips her head up, staring at her with a slightly open mouth. Silence passes between them as Connie seems to be struggling to come to grips with the offer. Then, incredulously, and with a slight amount of wonder, she asks, “Seriously?”

Rebecca nods hesitantly. “If you’re…still open to it.”

“I—yeah, I’m still open to it!” Her face lights up. Her smile is stunning. “I’ll uh, pick you up at eight. I’ll bring an extra helmet.”

Rebecca cannot help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Friday at eight, then.”

Connie nods. “Sharp.”

“Goodnight, Connie.”

“G’night…erm…”

“Rebecca.”

“Right. Knew that.” The butch smiles a bit sheepishly. “G’night. Until Friday.”

Rebecca gives her a soft smile, then goes to let herself in to her house. Connie starts up her motorcycle as she closes the door, and Rebecca hears her give it a few celebratory revs before pulling out into the street.

-/-

Rebecca usually wears dresses on dates, when she goes on them (which is rarely, these days), but what with Connie picking her up on her bike wearing one would probably be a bad idea. So she goes home early from the lab, showers, twists her hair up simply, and dons black slacks and a blouse. She is leaning on the handrail to her front steps when Connie wheels up at two ‘til.

“Hey,” the butch says, killing the engine and pulling off her helmet. The move gives Rebecca a glorious view of her helmet-tossed hair. Combined with the button up, vest, and slacks of her own, Connie looks good enough to eat. “Ready?”

Rebecca’s heart thumps traitorously. She has been nervous all week, but she tries to pretend like she’s not. She nods and steps over to the curb.

Connie reaches back into one of the saddle bags and pulls out a second helmet. “Borrowed it from my friend. I’ll…buy another one if we keep this up.”

_If._

Rebecca does not miss the word choice. She nods and takes the loaner helmet, clipping it on before swinging herself onto the back of the bike with little ceremony.

“Ready to go?”

“Mmhm.”

“Alrighty then.” Connie starts the bike and they are off.

.

.

.

Rebecca hates how well the date goes. After both of them get over their nervousness, they fall back into the same playful banter they had back in the bar. Rebecca had been hoping against all hope that Connie would be less charming in a romantic setting; it is clear she is not. She gets all doors for her and helps her with her seat at the restaurant, but lets her get the bill when she insists. They dinner conversation spans everything from nuclear science to politics to Connie’s career plans.

Connie smiles a lot as they talk, and Rebecca realizes how weak she is for that smile.

After dinner, the butch takes her home, and for the first time gets off the bike and walks her up to her door. Rebecca half hopes she will kiss her; the part of her that is still fighting this thinks that is a bad idea.

“So, should I buy a second helmet?” Connie jokes as Rebecca unlocks her door.

“Not yet,” Rebecca says. She turns around to see the butch looking slightly crestfallen. Since she believes in giving credit where credit is due she says, “I had a wonderful time, Connie.”

“But?” the butch predicts.

Rebecca shakes her head. “No ‘buts.’ Let’s just…take things slow.” She needs it. To know for sure. To think about what the fuck she’s doing.

Connie nods. “I can do slow.”

“Good.” Rebecca steps in and, before she can think otherwise, kisses the butch on the cheek. “Good night, Connie.”

Connie’s smile could light up the entire street. “G’night, Rebecca. See you ‘round?”

She nods, then slips inside, leaving Connie on her porch with nothing but her thoughts. Connie turns around and heads back down the stairs, hands in her pockets and a grin on her face.

-/-

They did not plan a time for a second date, so Connie devises one of her own. On her day off a week or so later she stops by the Engineering canteen and picks up lunch for the two of them. It’s not exactly five star, but she’s run into Rebecca here so many times over the past year (and heard her order the exact same thing each and every time) that is seems too perfect not to do.

When Rebecca comes around the corner from picking up some research from the Engineering library, she finds Connie leaning against the wall by her office, waiting for her. Rebecca’s heart speeds up. What is it with her leaning on walls? Is it a butch thing? Regardless, it’s more attractive than necessary.

“Connie,” she says, a little surprised, stopping from where she was shifting around her books so she could get the keys to her office out of her pocket.

“Hey,” the butch replies with an easy smile, automatically reaching forward and holding her hands out for the armful of books.

Rebecca sets them in her hands gratefully and finds her keys, then goes to open the door. The doorknob is tricky and requires both hands. Once open, she turns back to the butch. “What are you doing here?”

Connie laughs. “That really has to stop being the opening line in all of our conversations.”

 “You are just very good at appearing in places I don’t expect you.”

“It must be a gift.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes and holds her hands out for her books. Connie gives them to her, then props the door open wide so she can pass through. Rebecca sets the research material on the ever growing pile on her desk with a loud ‘thump.’

“Have you eaten?” Connie asks, trailing in after her with her bag from the canteen. “I brought lunch. Coffee, Boston style, and a roast beef panini. It’s not much but...”

Rebecca had not yet eaten. “That sounds fine.” Then, teasingly, “I am disturbed by how well you know my order.”

Connie flushes, the tips of her ears turning a bit red. “I’ve heard you order the same thing for a year, so....”

Rebecca smiles a bit at her defensiveness—it is actually rather cute. “Shall we eat in the lab? I’m afraid my office is not fit for human habitation at the moment.”

Connie stares at her. “Eat? In the lab?”

“We’re already breaking several lab rules,” Rebecca reminds her. “What is one more at this point?”

The butch chuckles. “Guess you’re right.”

“It is not like it is in use much right now, anyway. Dr. Bell has the summer session.” She slips past her and out into the hallway, gesturing for her to come out. Connie does, and Rebecca locks the door. Then they walk down the corridor to the lab, which Rebecca has to unlock.

They set up on one of the work tables, Rebecca taking a sip of her coffee almost as soon as Connie hands it to her. Connie unpacks the rest of their lunch, then hands her fellow scientist a wad of napkins and a fork.

“Thank you,” Rebecca says softly.

“Figured you could use a break from the textbook,” Connie replies, unwrapping her own lunch—a chicken thing that is on some planet considered an Italian wrap. “How’s that going, by the way? You didn’t say last week.”

“Fantastically,” Rebecca says dryly, heavy sarcasm in every syllable. “I love spending my entire time in the library, Xeroxing pages of things I want to reference later.”

Connie bursts out laughing.  “It’ll get easier when you actually get to the writing part, yeah?”

“Yes. But I have to get there first.”

The butch chuckles softly, shaking her head in amusement, then takes a bite of her wrap. Rebecca takes that as the sign to start eating as well. They are mostly silent as they eat.

“What sort of tea is _that_?” Rebecca asks after a bit, gesturing at the Styrofoam cup Connie is sipping out of. She knows for a fact they don’t have Darjeeling oolong at the canteen.

“Earl grey.”

“Your second choice of tea?”

Connie makes a bit of a face. “In a pinch.”

“Not fond of it?”

“It just isn’t my favorite. They were out of English Breakfast and I’m not a fan of herbals.”

Rebecca makes a mental note.

“What about you? Is there anything you drink besides coffee and gin martinis?”

“Wine.” The single word is delivered in such a deadpan that Connie snorts. “It’s incredibly stereotypical of me, I’m aware.”

The butch raises an eyebrow. “Stereotypical how?”

Rebecca gestures up and down and her torso. “Third generation Italian.”

“Really?” Connie asks, surprised, but then she guesses she can see it in Rebecca’s cheekbones, her dark eyes, and wild hair.

_“Ovviamente. Perché ti mentirei di questo?”*_

“You _speak_ Italian, too?”

Rebecca nods. “Yes. Along with German and some French.”

“How’d you learn all that?”

“Italian was spoken at home, and I learned the German in college. The French came from a semester abroad in Paris.”

Connie whistles. “You just keep getting more and more impressive. I think I will have to show my aggressively average self out.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “You make up for it in other ways.”

Connie waggles her eyebrows. “You have no idea.”

The innuendo causes Rebecca to choke on her coffee, producing a bit of a coughing fit. She waves Connie’s solicitous and concerned care away. “I’m fine, really. But I do believe I asked to go slow?”

The tips of Connie’s ears burn. “Right. Sorry. I just couldn’t resist.”

Rebecca gives her an appraising look and picks up her fork to finish her panini. Connie, still flushed, takes the last few bites of her wrap.

After they are done, Connie collects the trash in the bag she brought it in. “I should probably let you get back to work, huh?”

Rebecca, who welcomed the distraction Connie brought, does not want her to go, but knows if she stays she will get behind on her time table. “I suppose.”

They stand to leave the lab; Connie tosses the bag in the trash. As Rebecca locks the lab, Connie asks, “So…was this…okay?”

Rebecca nods.

“Can I take you out again?” she asks hopefully. “In a week or so?”

“My outline is due in two weeks but after that…” Rebecca hedges for a moment. “Yes.”

The butch grins, then reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper. “I was hoping you’d say that. Here’s my number so we can touch base. I get home from the plant about six.”

Rebecca takes the piece and unfolds it, looking at the ten digits written in Connie’s slanting script. She nods, and tucks it safely in her pocket. “Thank you.”

Connie leans in and kisses her cheek, almost close her hairline, pointedly staying well away from her lips. “Talk to you later, then. Good luck with the book.”

“Thank you for lunch,” Rebecca says softly.

“Don’t mention it.” Connie pulls her carabiner of keys off her belt loop and heads for the stairs. “Later!”

Rebecca listens to the sound of her boots thud down the stairs until she heard the bang of the doors at the bottom, signaling Connie has left the building. With a sigh, she rolls her neck out and heads towards her office for a long afternoon of research.

-/-

Two and a half weeks later, well into July, they go on a second date. Technically a third, if their lunch together counts as one.

Connie, because she is Connie, gets them tickets to a beer and wine festival being held on the Greenway downtown. Rebecca is suitably impressed, not only because of Connie’s ever increasing thoughtfulness, but because she tells her a few of her butch friends and their femmes are thinking about going. Connie offers it up as an alternative if Rebecca wants to make it look as if they going with a group of friends rather than on a date. Rebecca is not sure being seen around a group of lesbians will help her case. She turns the group idea down, but still tells Connie she wishes to attend.

The night of the festival is beautiful. The heat of the day dissipates with the setting of the sun, leaving behind a gently cooling night. The Greenway is full of tents and strings of lights, setting the whole area aglow. There are lots of free samples, as promised, along with many nibbles.

The patrons are mostly middle age couples, a handful of older folk, and a good two dozen pretentious yuppies that travel together either in large packs or small groups of two or three. Connie and Rebecca end up less interested in the alcohol and more in making snarky commentary about the people around them.

“I am extremely ready for the goatee to go out of fashion,” Rebecca says as yet another man walks by with the offending facial hair in question.

“Along with the strange plaid and floral suits.”

“And the baggy jeans…”

Connie wrinkles her nose in agreement. Both of them are slightly buzzed, but having a good time. As a result of the alcohol Rebecca is smiling a bit more than usual, which Connie occasionally gets distracted by. She really does have a beautiful smile, when it comes out. It’s soft, unlike the severe façade she puts up for the world.

Connie wants to make Rebecca more soft. Even if it is only in private, she wants to make this woman smile every day. She wants to make her roll her eyes fondly when Connie says something ridiculous or sarcastic. She wants to coax down those defenses and get to see the Rebecca Gallaro the rest of the world rarely (if ever) gets to see.

But she knows that Rebecca is a very private person. It will take time for her to trust her enough to let her all the way in, without the benefit of alcohol or other moments of weakness. It is good that Connie has the patience of a saint. She would wait for Rebecca until the end of time.

The festival continues on. When both of them have sampled all the booths, and drunk and nibbled their share, they go on a walk along the harbor front. It’s under the pretense of letting the alcohol wear off, but since they took the T, it’s really just an excuse to spend more time together.

There are lots of couples along the water, walking hand in hand, enjoying the nice weather and each other’s company. Connie wishes she could hold Rebecca’s hand, wrap an arm around her waist, do _something_ but she knows she has to respect Rebecca’s wishes first and foremost. She shoves her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

“You’re very quiet,” Rebecca notes as they walk. “Usually you ask questions.”

“Didn’t figure you’d enjoy it right now,” Connie replies. “Time and a place.”

“What makes you think it is not the time or the place?”

“Well, we are having what many would consider a romantic walk, and I think most people prefer those not to be filled with talking.”

The older woman looks over at her, the corners of her mouth crooked in amusement. “Have I given you any indication that I am like most people? How droll.”

Connie opens her mouth, then closes it, shakes her head in exasperation. “You know what I meant.”

Rebecca hums and adjusts her shawl around her. The two of them continue their quiet walk down the waterfront until it gets late enough they have to head for the T. Connie had parked her bike at Rebecca’s, so she gets off at the same stop and walks with her towards her townhouse.

“Are you sober enough to drive?” Rebecca asks as they approach her front stoop.

Connie looks at her watch. “Probably want to wait another little bit, just to be sure. I feel fine, but we drank a lot.”

Rebecca nods and climbs the stairs to her door, finding her keys. She looks back at Connie, who is standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking uncertain. “If you don’t want to stand outside all night I suggest you come up here.”

The butch rolls her eyes and joins her as she unlocks the door. Rebecca pushes the door open and turns on the hall light as she steps in. Connie walks in after her; the hallway is painted a dark red color, and art is dispersed along the walls. The floors are dark wood, slightly worn with age, but obviously kept well-polished. The house smells faintly of smoke, herbs, and the musk of old books.

Rebecca flicks the deadbolt on the front door, then leans against the wall to take off her shoes. Connie takes the hint and unlaces her boots, stepping out of them as Rebecca puts her shoes and wrap in the hall closet.

“You’ve got a nice house.”

The older woman looks back at her. “You’ve only seen the foyer.”

“Well, if the rest of it is the same as the foyer, I’m sure it’s just as nice.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Rebecca advises, but gestures for her to follow her down the hall. Connie does, past a living room and a staircase, then into a small kitchen. It’s what her father would have referred to as a ‘two-butt’ kitchen—just large enough for two people to cook comfortably. The kitchen is painted in the same dark red as the foyer, with dark cabinets lining the walls. Beyond it is a dining room with a similar color scheme. The counters are clean; the center piece on the table is simple.

For some reason Connie thinks the house is perfectly Rebecca.

The woman in question stops in the kitchen and turns to face her. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Probably should drink some water, otherwise I’m going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow.”

Rebecca inclines her head and reaches up into one of the cabinets, pulling down two glasses. “Ice?”

Connie shakes her head.

Rebecca fills both glasses with water from the tap, then hands one to the butch. She takes it with a soft thank you and takes a long draught from it. Rebecca’s remains mostly untouched. Instead she leans gently against the counter, watching the butch.

Connie notices. “What is it?”

“I’m thinking.”

The butch raises an eyebrow. She’s seen Rebecca in deep concentration, and this is not it. She decides to play along. “About what?”

“About how much I enjoyed tonight.”

“Oh.” Connie had not been expecting that. “Is that a good thing?”

Rebecca sighs. “I’m not sure.”

Connie swallows. That is not a good sign. “Is it the student thing?”

She nods.

Connie sighs, sets her glass down on the counter. “Rebecca, listen. If it’s too much of a conflict for you, I understand. But I want you to decide soon because if we keep going…”

They’ll get too involved. Pulling out of whatever this is between them with feelings intact will be almost impossible. Spending the next year in the lab together will be uncomfortable at best, torturous at worst.

What goes unsaid is they both already know deep down that it’s already too late for a clean break.  They are both too attached.

Rebecca sighs, too. “I know.”

Connie picks up her glass, finishes it, then sets it back down. “I should get going.”

The older woman’s lips press together.

“I don’t think we should have another date until you’ve decided either way,” Connie says softly.

Rebecca nods, blinks, and is mortified to find tears in her eyes. God, has she gotten that attached this quickly? What is wrong with her? She looks down at the linoleum to prevent the butch from seeing. She can feel her throat getting tight.

Connie leans forward, gently kisses her cheek. To Rebecca, that single movement makes her position perfectly clear.

“I’ll show myself out, okay? Give me a call?”

“Alright.” Her voice is thick. She hates it.

The butch pauses, like she wants to say more, then shakes her head. She gives Rebecca’s arm a squeeze, then leaves. With the rapidity that the door opens and closes, it’s clear she has grabbed her boots and will be putting them on on the front porch.

Rebecca breathes deep, tilts her head back, tries to compose herself. It doesn’t work. Something cracks inside of her, and tears stream down her cheeks.

-/-

She has never faced a decision this hard before. Choosing to go to MIT for graduate school and post doc had been easy. Keeping her mother’s house had been comparatively simple. Even her decision to step away from Boston’s gay community had been easier than this.  

She thought that by going on a few dates with Connie, she would get whatever this was out of her system. That the attraction might lessen. That she might be able to move past it. It has done anything but—Connie, she is quickly realizing, is everything she wants in a partner. Everything she _needs._

It’s clear the attraction is mutual. That Connie would do anything for her. Would wait as long as possible if asked. Which is nice, romantic even, but Rebecca could never bring herself to ask that of her. Especially if Connie continues to work in her lab.

It is probably not too late to switch her into another lab, which would solve at least part of the issue, but the lab Rebecca already has works well together. Breaking up their cohesive element and adding in a newcomer would destroy the balance. And while there are plenty of engineering labs at MIT, there is  only one other nuclear engineering one, and she knows Dr. Bell would not treat Connie well. She could not, in good conscious, ask Connie to do something like that.

She battles herself for almost a month. Connie leaves her be. Gives her space. Rebecca tries not to think about it. She loses herself in writing the first few chapters of her book. It’s actually shaping up to be a good textbook, all things considered.

The day before the first week of classes, Rebecca is deep into scribbling something on a legal pad when there’s a knock on her office door. It’s unlocked, and she figures it’s a colleague, so she tells them to come in.

It’s not a colleague. It’s Connie.

“Hey,” she says, and Rebecca’s entire train of thought derails. She snaps her head up, looks at her. Freezes. An awkward silence passes between them as they stare at each other. Connie finally breaks the stillness, moves forward, pulls up the chair in front of Rebecca’s desk and sits in it. “So, I thought we might want to…check in, considering tomorrow’s the first day back.”

Rebecca slowly lowers her pen, caps it. Puts it on the desk. “Yes I…yes.”

“How are you doing?” Connie asks, when silence stretches between them again.

“Truthfully? Awful.”

“I’m sorry,” the butch says softly. “I put us in this position, knowing good and well I should have waited.”

“I agreed to the date in the end,” Rebecca shoots back, “so I don’t think either of us is guilt free.”

Connie sighs. “So what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know!” she snaps. “It’s been an entire month and I still don’t— _know_ —” Her voice cracks. She quickly shuts her mouth and turns her head to the side, swallowing against the rising tears.

Connie immediately stands up and comes around the desk, kneels in front of her. “Hey—Rebecca—hey. Look at me.” After some time, Rebecca finally does. “I can’t speak for you, but I can speak for me, and I know I haven’t felt like this with anyone before…and I’d wait for you, but being in that lab together would be hell, so I’ll transfer into Bell’s lab if it means we can work this out. I’ll deal with his misogynistic, homophobic ass for a year if it means we have a better chance of making it work. Is that—”

Rebecca stops her by kissing her full on the mouth.  Just leans in, cups her face in both hands, and kisses her. She knows it isn’t ideal, she knows she should have asked for consent first, but God this woman is the best thing that has ever happened to her and she never wants to let her go. So she kisses her, and hopes that’s enough.

Connie inhales softly at first then readily kisses back, leaning up to keep it going. One of her hands brace on the arm of Rebecca’s chair while the other finds her waist. Rebecca tastes of coffee and chocolate. Her lips are softer than Connie imagined, and she’s imagined a lot. She never wants to stop kissing her.

There’s a pointed cough at the door, which causes both of them to spring apart. They look, and there’s the Dean of the Engineering School, standing in front of Rebecca’s office with a thick folder of papers. He looks unamused.

“Is this a bad time, Rebecca?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ovviamente. Perché dovrei mentire? = Obviously. Why should I lie?


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the Glorious Science Lesbians love so far, you guys! <3

After a very tense meeting with the Dean, in which words like ‘career ending mistake’ and ‘tenure board’ were thrown around, Rebecca and Connie rendezvous back at her townhouse. Rebecca goes straight for her collection of wine, popping open the bottle with the highest alcohol content and pouring two heavy measures into glasses.

She hands one to Connie. “You’d probably prefer beer, but it’s what I’ve got on such short notice.”

“It’ll do,” Connie says flatly, taking the glass without complaint.

They both drink. It’s only after about half a bottle that their nerves finally settle enough for them to discuss what happened.

Connie, naturally, is mostly worried about Rebecca. “Are you okay?” she asks, after they relocate with the bottle to her living room. “You were just outed…”

Despite the wine, Rebecca is getting a massive stress headache. She closes her eyes and rubs ineffectively at the back of her neck. She can never get the right angle on the damn pressure point. “I’m not worried about being outed.”

“You’re worried about how it’s going to be seen?”

“It won’t matter that we’re two consenting adults,” the older woman said with a sigh. “What’s going to matter is that you’re a grad student and I’m faculty. Tenured faculty.”

“The fact we’re gay is just an added bonus.”

Rebecca gestures as if to say ‘just so’ then pours herself more wine. It’s one of her most expensive bottles, but she does not care. It had been meant for a special occasion, and this seems pretty _special_ to her.

“So we’re critical,” Connie says, “but we haven’t reached the point of no return yet. There’s been no meltdown. We can still contain this.”

Rebecca gives her a look over her wine glass. “I’m not going to comment on the nuclear reactor analogy coming from the Pilgrim operator.”

“I think you just did.”

The nuclear engineer sighs and shakes her head, brushing it aside. “You’re right. How _are_ we going to contain it?”

“I thought you might know,” Connie admits. “You’ve got a better idea of how the department works than I do.”

Rebecca runs a hand through her hair, which has come mostly undone in the stress of the past five or six hours. It’s the first time Connie has seen her hair mostly down, and it would be extremely distracting if the situation was not so dire.  

“The Dean probably won’t tell anyone until tomorrow…after that, he’ll probably bring it up with the Board of Trustees. Information will be collected, interviews, the like. And at some point the Board will decide if the case should be dropped, or if they go ahead and make the decision if I should keep my tenure or be stripped of it.”  Her hand goes through her hair again, gets stuck in the bobby pins in the back. Rebecca pulls her hand away with annoyance. “If I’m stripped of it, I’m certain the Dean will promptly fire me as a departmental embarrassment. They already hate the fact that I’m mouthy, and a woman to boot.”

Connie is quiet for a long time, staring at her wine glass.

Rebecca looks over at her. “You should be prepared to be put on academic probation. I can’t promise your job in the lab will be secure, or that your thesis advisor will keep you on.”

“…Great.”

Rebecca laughs a bit self-deprecatingly. “What a goddamn mess.”

“I’m assuming _this_ is why you don’t date students?” Connie asks, gesturing expansively between the both of them and the wine on the coffee table.

“Yes…” She pauses, looks over at her. “But I don’t regret what we did.”

“Me either.” Connie reaches over and touches her knee gently. “You made us sound so serious when you told the Dean about us…considering we’ve only been on two dates.”

“Three.”

“Three?”

“You brought me lunch.”

Connie rolls her eyes. “That doesn’t really count.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“The point is,” Connie continues, “we don’t…have to be ‘serious’ now, steady, just because we told them we were to help our case.”

“That wasn’t why I told him that,” Rebecca says softly. When Connie looks over at her, brow furrowed, she says, “I told him we were serious because I am serious about you, and my relationship with you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The butch smiles softly. “Finally taking a stance?”

“It’s about damn time I did.” Rebecca reaches forward and collects her hand. It’s the first time they’ve held hands in any capacity. She wishes it was under better circumstances. “If I’m going to have made a ‘career ending’ mistake, I’m rather have made it for loving an incredible woman than for making a blundering scientific error.”

Connie smiles, turns her hand up, interlaces their fingers. “I’m glad the feeling is mutual.” She pauses. “If you do get fired, I’m sure I can talk to the boss at Pilgrim and put in a good word. We have a team of experimental researchers at the plant and I’m sure they’d love to have you.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

Connie chuckles and leans over, presses a kiss to her temple. Rebecca turns her head and leans in, kisses her softly. Connie makes a soft noise and kisses her back. The kiss is nowhere near as passionate or desperate as their kiss in the office; instead it is gentle, slow, collected. When they pull apart, both of them give the other a hesitant little smile.

“Stay?” Rebecca asks her softly.

“The night?”

She nods.

Connie says yes without hesitation. She knows the vulnerability she is feeling is nothing compared to what Rebecca must be facing right now. Being outed to a misogynistic boss and threatened to be stripped of pretty much the only job one has ever had are two traumatic events—and to happen on the same afternoon, within hours of each other…. She can’t imagine how it must feel, but the lost sound in Rebecca’s request gives her some idea.

They still haven’t figured out how they are going to handle this whole issue, but Connie has bigger issues to deal with right now. Rebecca is hurting, and she wants to fix that immediately. They can figure out the rest of it in the morning.

“Do you…want me to sleep upstairs with you, or should I take the couch?”

“Upstairs.” Rebecca stands, pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment, then composes herself. “Let’s clean up and go to bed.”

Connie nods and collects their glasses. After everything is put away, Rebecca takes her upstairs. Her bedroom is on the second floor and has the softest carpet Connie has ever felt. Most of the room is taken up by a large bed with wine-colored sheets. Rebecca turns on the light then starts pulling pins out of her hair.

Connie looks around, intrigued. “Was it your mother or you who loved dark wood and red accents?”

“The dark wood was my grandfather, actually.” Rebecca’s words are a bit jumbled around a mouth full of bobby pins. She takes them out and sets them in a small bowl on the vanity pushed up against the wall. “This was my grandparents’ house before it was hers. After she died, I moved in. The red was my addition.”

Connie thinks about how much red paint she has seen so far in Rebecca’s house. “You painted this entire house?”

“Had to, or else I’d never get rid of the stench.”

“The stench?”

Rebecca looks back at her, amused. “Have you ever been in a house that has been smoked in for fifty years?”

The lingering scent of acridity suddenly makes sense. “Family of smokers?”

Rebecca starts to run a wide toothed comb through her hair to get the worst of the tangles out. “Italians, so yes.”

Connie crosses her arms, watches her. “Do you smoke?”

“Used to.”

That surprises the butch. “Really?”

Rebecca gives her a look over her shoulder from where she tying up her hair. “Don’t worry, I quit several years ago.”

“What made you quit?”

The engineer shrugs, heads over to a closet hidden behind dark wood doors without really answering. She pulls out a pair of pajamas out of dresser drawer, then looks Connie up and down critically. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything close to something that would fit you.”

“T’sokay. I’ll sleep in my boxers and undershirt.”

Rebecca gives her a soft smile, then goes off to the bathroom. Connie undresses while she’s gone, folding her clothing neatly and placing it on the bench of the vanity. She sets her keys and belt on top of the pile.

When Rebecca comes back in, she’s wearing her pajamas and washed her face. The butch is captivated. It’s the first time Connie has seen Rebecca stripped completely of the façade that makes her Dr. Rebecca Gallaro, Experimental Nuclear Engineer. There is no makeup, no starched white collars, no formal wear. Her clipped words and rigid posture are gone. She’s just a mane of curly brown hair, dark circles under her eyes, and a sort of softness not found about her at any other time.

Connie loves it.

She notices Rebecca is looking at her, too, taking in her plaid boxers, white undershirt, and the necklace that is often hidden from view around her neck. Rebecca steps forward and reaches up to finger the sliver and agate beads.

“Is this religious or just for aesthetics?”

“Purely aesthetics, I’m afraid,” Connie admits with a soft, bashful smile. “Although I am Catholic.”

Rebecca looks up at her, surprised. “Really?”

The butch shrugs, looking a little awkward. “I guess it’s better to say I’m socially Catholic. I haven’t been to mass in years.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Don’t really broadcast it. People don’t like to think a butch lesbian and a scientist can also be Catholic.”

“There are many different intersections in life,” Rebecca says, smoothing a hand over her shoulder before settling it on her chest. “It is only as incongruous as they make it.”

A crooked little smile works its way onto Connie’s face before she leans in and gently kisses Rebecca’s cheek. “You’re something else, you know that right?”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is.” Connie reaches down and squeezes her hip. “Should we get some sleep? Gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

Rebecca sighs. “Yes it is. Do you prefer a side of the bed?”

Connie shakes her head.

“Good.” Rebecca pulls away and heads for the left side, away from the window. She turns down the bedsheets. As she turns on the bedside lamp she warns, “I’m not much of a cuddler.”

“Ts’okay.” Connie is actually a bit disappointed, but she had suspected as much. The butch goes over to the other side of the bed and crawls in as Rebecca closes the bedroom door and turns off the main light. Rebecca comes to bed in the soft gloom and removes her glasses as Connie settles in, turning on her side away from Rebecca to resist any cuddling temptation.

Rebecca turns off the light, plunging the room into darkness. Connie feels her shift and pull the covers up around her.

“Good night, Connie.”

“G’night, Rebecca...”

-/-

The news that Dr. Rebecca Gallaro hooked up with a grad student from her lab over the summer spreads like wildfire through the department, despite the Dean saying the resulting investigation would be handled quietly. The next morning, Rebecca is accosted in the hallway by no less than three of her coworkers. They all ask varying questions, but all of them are along the lines of W _hat the hell were you thinking?_ and _How could you risk your career like this?_ She tells them to piss off.

By the end of the day, she is increasingly irate. All of the grad students pick up on her irritation as they arrive in the lab for their first meeting of the semester. Connie intercepts her before they start, gently guiding her into a corner of the lab by the elbow.

“Are you doing okay?” she asks in a low tone. Rebecca gives her a look; Connie hastily removes her hand from Rebecca’s person. “Okay, bad question. Better one….is there anything I can do?”

“Keeping me from strangling the Dean in his sleep tonight would be a fine start.”

Connie snorts. “Noted. Are we going to tell the others?”

“I’m going to address it briefly and then move on to lab business.”

“Fair enough.”

They join Monica, Ed, and Julian at the work table, where the three grad students are doing marvelous impressions of nosy house cats. Rebecca folds her arms over her chest and starts the meeting.

“I’m sure you all have heard the rumors today. They are true, and if you have a problem with them, I will have you reassigned to a different lab where you can work in an environment better suited to your tastes. This is the last I’m going to discuss this. Do I make myself clear?”

Three heads nod up and down, but no one objects. It is clear they are all burning with curiosity but too afraid to ask any direct questions. Rebecca has a feeling Connie will be cornered by them as soon as she leaves the four of them alone. She figures Connie is a big enough girl to handle herself, so she moves on without ado.

“Now that that is settled, we will discuss the extent of this semester’s grant.”

.

.

.

Rebecca’s predictions come true. The next day, Connie is suspended from the lab pending the results of the investigation. The butch does not seem that upset by it.

“I just won’t have to come to campus three days a week,” she tells Rebecca that afternoon, when she stops by her office to tell her the news. “Saves me money and time.”

“What about your tuition reimbursement?” Rebecca asks.

Connie grins. “They already gave it to me. I’ve got the receipts.”

“It won’t stop them.”

“Yeah, but I can make it difficult for long enough that I can work to make the difference.”

Rebecca sighs and rubs her temple. “What did Professor Kramer say to you about your thesis?”

“Told me to keep working on it, and that he wishes I had waited to ask you out as a student until after he retired.”

Rebecca snorts. “Of course he did.”

“He also told me what we’ve done wasn’t exactly advisable, but he’s happy for us as long as we’re happy together.”

The nuclear engineer looks up, surprised. “Jacob said that?”

Connie nods.

Rebecca makes a ‘huh’ noise. Of all the people in the engineering department, she had not expected Dr. Jacob Kramer to be a supporter of same sex relationships. “Interesting…perhaps he’ll back me up tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“Faculty meeting,” Rebecca responds primly. “I plan to come out.”

The butch blinks. “Really?” The other woman nods. “That’s...that’s a big step.”

“Might as well, considering the news is starting to spread across campus.” Rebecca crosses her arms over her chest. “I’d rather control the narrative than have it control me.”

Connie smiles softly. “You’ll be the first out engineering professor at MIT.”

“I’m well aware,” she says dryly.

“You’re not worried about it?”

“My work is well enough known by now…” Rebecca trails off, glancing over at her wall of degrees and awards. Connie can tell that she is more nervous than she lets on.

The butch reaches over the desk and takes her hand. “Hey. You can do this. Remember, most of them are sexist assholes anyway, so it is not like you can sink much lower with them. If they have a problem with your sexuality, they can go fuck themselves.”

The engineer smooths her thumb over Connie’s skin but does not respond more than that.

Connie squeezes her hand. “We’ll go out afterwards, okay? Celebrate.”

“I’d rather not…”

“Then we’ll go back to your place. I’ll make you dinner. With wine or…maybe a gin martini?”

“You’re such a good butch,” Rebecca says softly, squeezing her fingers.

“I try. You’re doing something really important tomorrow. The least I can do is support you.”

“Thank you.”

Connie scoots closer, raises Rebecca’s hand to her lips. She kisses her palm, then folds her fingers back over the kiss and smiles at her. The engineer manages to smile back. 

-/-

Rebecca has never been to a more awkward faculty meeting. The director is very deliberately not looking at her, but every other person in the room is. She can feel their eyes on her. She catches some of them at it when she turns her head to glance at the clock. They readjust themselves hurriedly when she looks their way; they reach for their coffee, pretend to scribble something in their papers, or do something to make it look like they weren’t staring at them.

Rebecca Gallaro is no fool. She knows exactly what they are thinking about her.

Finally half an hour past the scheduled end, the meeting finally starts to wrap up. “Any new business?” the director asks, expecting the usual sea of head shakes.

“Actually,” Rebecca says, “yes.”

The temperature of the room instantly drops ten degrees. The conference room has only seen such quiet before when it was first built. Rebecca looks around, as if daring someone to object. When no one does, she speaks.

“I’m sure everyone in this room is well aware of the allegations being leveled against me, and I’m already more than tired of the rumors that are being swapped in this department. So I’m going to set the record straight. Yes, I am a lesbian, and yes, I am in a relationship with Connie Williams of my lab. I would like to remind each and every one of you that both Connie and myself are well above the age of consent. Our relationship started outside of my lab, during the summer recess, and it would have happened whether or not she was my graduate student or not.”

Rebecca pauses, surveys the men in the room. They all look supremely uncomfortable. Good. She continues.

“Furthermore, whomever it is that is spreading the rumor that Connie coerced me into a relationship can shove it up their ass. I’ve been a lesbian for thirty years and have never been _coerced_ into anything. I don’t care if you don’t support our relationship because of the ethicality. We’re aware it was not the best decision and we should have waited for a more appropriate time. That being said, I _do_ care if you don’t support our relationship because we’re gay. I have no patience for homophobia, especially at an institution such as this. My sexuality has nothing to do with my ability to conduct sound science. It never has, it never will, and frankly, I find the notion that some of you believe so deeply disturbing.”

She pauses, one last time. She’s shaking a bit; she needs to finish up before she loses her nerve. “That’s all I have to say on the matter. If you have a problem with it, bring it up with me directly, not behind my back. I assure you, just because I have a vagina does not mean I’m not strong enough to take it. You won’t be the first person to have a problem with me, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

Dead silence meets the end of her comments. Then, from down the table, Jacob Kramer claps. “Well said, Rebecca. Thank you.”

“On that note,” the director says, with quite a large measure of awkwardness, “thank you for coming, everyone. We’ll see you at the next meeting, which will be the first Wednesday of October. Have a good rest of the week.”

The room explodes into activity as the faculty rushes to leave the room. Rebecca calmly collects her legal pad and pen, then departs with her head held high. As with most moments in her life, she does not give the men in the room a backward glance.  

-/-

Rebecca Gallaro expects many things in her life. The one thing she does _not_ expect is for the local news to pick up her relationship issues with the MIT Engineering department and run a front page spread titled “Tenured MIT Professor Accused of Lesbian Impropriety” in the Monday edition. She wonders which faculty member leaked her conference room coming out to the press, although she has a couple of very good ideas.

Connie is incensed.

“We live in Massachusetts, Ted Kennedy is our senator, and the paper publishes this bullshit,” she growls out. “It’s ridiculous. Investigative journalism my ass. They didn’t even talk to you or me.”

“I think we should frame it,” Rebecca says wryly. Seeing Connie angry is a new experience, but she can’t help but find it cute.

“They’re seriously damaging your character.”

“And there is nothing I can do about it.”

The next day, Rebecca receives a call from the _Gay Community News_ at work, asking her for an interview.

.

.

.

“I think we’ve become a bit of a media sensation,” Rebecca says to Connie after their third interview-related meeting in two days.

The day previously, a reporter from the _Gay Community News_ had interviewed them, photographer in tow. That morning, a reporter from _Lesbian Gay New York_ had called to confirm they were, in fact, on for an interview the next day. And just now they had finished talking with a student reporter from the MIT newspaper, _The Tech_. The intrepid student reporter had cheerfully wished them well at the end of the interview and promised a blistering response to the initial article in the school newspaper the next morning.

This is new territory for both of them, especially Connie. Neither of them likes it.

“I’m ready for this to all blow over,” Connie grumbles as they get back to Rebecca’s car.

Rebecca could not agree more.

Four days after the initial, Rebecca receives her first mail about the incident.

“They found your office address,” Louise, the departmental secretary, says sympathetically, handing her a three inch stack of envelopes. “Phone’s been ringing off the hook, too. I’ve been telling them to go to Hell.”

Rebecca had always been nice to Louise over the years, and her small displays of compassion over the years have apparently paid off. Louise is one of the few people in the engineering department to tell Rebecca to her face that she and Connie have her full support. There are a few others, including the assistant dean, which surprises Rebecca. However, she is not complaining; she’ll take whatever favors the Universe passes her way.

Rebecca takes the mail with a sigh. “Thank you, Louise.”

She doesn’t open them at school. Instead, she takes them home. Connie arrives at a little past six to cook dinner for her, which she has taken to doing. Rebecca insists it isn’t necessary, but Connie insists that it is the least she can do in the resulting bedlam so Rebecca can focus on working on her textbook at night and in the lab during the day.

“What do you think?” the engineer asks as Connie pokes chicken and tomatoes around in a pan. Rebecca should be writing, but she wants her lover’s opinion on the stack of letters. “Should I open them or should I burn them?”

“Open them to make sure nobody is trying to kill you,” the butch advises. “Threats of violence go to the police, support is kept, hate speech gets put in the grill at the next Dykes on Bikes barbeque and torched.”

Rebecca sighs. “I wonder if the police will actually _do_ anything, considering.”

Connie can’t help but look worried. Both of them know better than to trust the police completely. “We’ll photocopy the threats in case the PD ‘loses’ them.”

“Good thinking.”

.

.

.

The first round of mail is mostly negative. All ten of the conservatives in Boston felt the need to write Rebecca and tell her she’s going to Hell, then convinced their friends from the surrounding areas to write, too. Rebecca twists those letters up in a bundle with twine and puts them in a box in which she keeps every negative article that has ever been published about her work.

She keeps them out of spite, despite Connie’s advice to the contrary. She has never bent under oppression, and keeping the letters will remind her that she still has a lot of work to do.

The tide of letters turns the following week, when the _Gay Community News_ , _Lesbian Gay New York_ , and _The Tech_ publish their own articles. Suddenly the letters get positive, with words of support coming in from strangers all over Boston and New York. Some of the names are familiar; people Rebecca knew from before. She tucks those letters in a special pile and makes certain to write them back.

MIT professors and students Rebecca does not even know, from departments she has never even heard of before, drop by to offer her their support. She eventually has to tell Louise to keep out anybody who does not have an express appointment with her.

-/-

“So Dykes on Bikes wants to organize a letter writing campaign,” Connie tells Rebecca a few days later over dinner.

“Is that where you went after work today?” Rebecca asks.

Connie nods. “Jack wanted our permission before they went public with it.”

“And what is the letter writing campaign _for_ , exactly?”

“To write to the department and demand they not take any disciplinary action against us.”

“The letters should go to the Dean and the Board,” Rebecca says immediately. “They are the one who make the final decision.”

“I’ll call Jack after we’re done and tell her.”

The engineer nods, then sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. She’s had a nonstop tension headache for two weeks.

Connie notices. “Head hurts again?”

“Always, now, apparently.”

The butch scoots her chair closer and gently replaces Rebecca’s fingers with her own. She starts massaging; Rebecca slumps back into her touch as she gets the angle right. Connie massages the back of her neck in long strokes, drawing the tension out, then concentrates in the dip where the pressure point lives. The engineer groans softly; the first time Connie had offered to try help a few days ago it had felt like heaven. Five days later, it still does.

“Better?” Connie asks after a little bit, still gently massaging.

“Yes,” Rebecca says gratefully. The headache is not gone, but has been significantly alleviated. “Thank you.”

Connie squeezes Rebecca’s shoulder, then returns to her dinner plate. “Of course.”

They fall into companionable silence and finish their dinner, then move to wash up. It’s Rebecca’s turn on dish duty. Connie dries. As they work the butch asks, “I need to get out of the city this weekend. All this shit is killing me, so I was thinking of going for a ride. Don’t know where yet but I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?”

A ride sounds like an excellent idea. Rebecca says so.

Connie grins. “I’ll go get a helmet for you tomorrow. A real one. No more borrowing Al’s spare.”

“Let me know how much it is going to cost and I’ll pay for it,” Rebecca tells her sternly. “You’re doing enough for me as it is.”

“Alright,” the butch concedes, knowing she won’t win this argument with her even if she tried. “I’ll go by the shop and you can pay me back.”

“That works.”

Connie smiles and leans in to give her a kiss. “The leaves should be starting to turn.”

Rebecca thinks about it; it is indeed already late September. How time has passed. “If that’s the case, can we go out to the mountains?”

“Sure,” Connie agrees easily. “I know a good loop up there. It’ll be a good day ride.”

Rebecca can honestly think of nothing better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lesbian Impropriety is the name of my new queer punk rock band. How could it not be?


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway there. Thanks for sticking with and loving these nerds as much as I do. :)

Rebecca has never been more grateful for the weekend possibly ever in her life. She rises early and braids her hair tightly, then gets dressed in jeans and a sweater, some of the most casual clothing she owns. She hasn’t owned chaps in ages, so she will just have to trust that Connie is as safe on long rides in the country as she is on short ones in the city. She does not doubt that she is—it is not like the butch to do anything halfway.

They’ve planned to eat breakfast outside the city, but Rebecca has something to eat before she leaves anyway, just in case. She waits to leave until she hears the sound of Connie’s motorcycle coming down the street. She grabs her jacket and sunglasses and leaves the house, locking up behind her.

Connie pulls up and kills the engine. Rebecca turns around and inhales sharply. She’s never seen Connie in full regalia before, but now that she’s before her, it is hard to ignore. Her riding chaps are studded up the sides and around the belt to match her bike, as are the edges of her riding vest. She’s wearing sunglasses that fit her face. She looks perfectly in her element, and god does she look _good._

“Hey,” Connie says with a grin, taking off her helmet as Rebecca comes down the steps to her porch. Her hair is mussed with sweat from her ride into town. It’s very distracting. And apparently, so is she; Connie’s head moves subtly up and down as she takes in her outfit in approval. “You look ready.”

“Mmhm.”

“Great. Your helmet is in the back bag.”

Rebecca goes to get it. As she rounds the back of the bike, she gets a view of the Dykes on Bike logo embroidered on the back of Connie’s vest. It’s not the usual one—this one has more color and a more intricate design of an engine instead of the cog popular with most other chapters. It probably cost her a small fortune to get made, but it looks so good that Rebecca understands why she had it done.

She pulls the helmet Connie bought for her out of the back saddle bag. It’s sleek and black, obviously brand new. She puts her purse in the saddle bag, which she re-buckles securely, then takes a moment to adjust the helmet straps. 

“Got it?” Connie asks.

“Yes. Thank you for picking it up.”

“‘Course.”

Rebecca sets the helmet on the seat bar of the motorcycle and shrugs on her jacket, then pulls on the helmet. After a few more adjustments to ensure a snug fit, she swings into the passenger seat and settles comfortably behind her girlfriend. “Shall we?”

Connie looks at her in the rearview mirror and grins. “Let’s get going.”

She starts the engine and the engineer curls her arms around her waist. They pull away from the curb and off down the road.

.

.

.

They eat breakfast at a diner just outside of town, then seriously start the ride. It’s a beautiful drive that takes them up through the mountains. Connie had been right; the trees are just starting to change colors. They are by no means at peak, but enough of them are far enough along that the forest is dotted with red, yellow, and orange. It’s beautiful. Between that, the wind against her face, and the warm strength of Connie in front of her, Rebecca starts to relax. If this is what she is to gain by risking her career, perhaps losing her tenure and her job might not be such a catastrophic thing after all. 

They stop after about two hours at a rest stop to stretch and use the rest room. Rebecca uses the break to take off her helmet and jacket and enjoy the cool fall breeze as it rustles through the leaves and over her skin. Connie comes back from checking the map to find her leaning against the bike, eyes closed and face tilted up towards the sun. Her hair shines brilliantly in the late morning light; the few strands of grey in her hair glitter like spun silver. The butch thinks she looks like a goddess.

“Hey, beautiful,” she says, stepping up next to her. She wants to wrap an arm around her, kiss her, something, but she is conscious of Rebecca’s distaste for public displays of affection. So instead she asks, “How you doin’?”

“I’m fine,” Rebecca blinks lazily, almost like a cat, and looks over at her. “And you?”

“Doin’ great,” Connie replies with a grin. “We’ve got about another hour and a half to the overlook, where we can eat the sandwiches I packed.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Do you want to get going, or do you want to bask for a bit longer?”

“Mmm, I suppose we can leave now.”

They both get ready to go then head back out onto the freeway. When they pull in to the parking lot of scenic overlook, it is full of bikes. Clearly others are taking advantage of the beautiful weekend the same as them. They dismount and Connie pulls their lunch out of a saddlebag. They carry it over to one of the picnic tables that is situated in such a way that is gives them a perfect view of the mountains stretching out before them.

“Thank you for suggesting this,” Rebecca says as Connie hands her a sandwich wrapped neatly in wax paper.

Connie smiles at her and digs in the bag for the two cans of soda. “Is this what you needed?”

Rebecca nods and unwraps her sandwich, spreading out the wax paper neatly on the table. Connie puts one of the cans on it so it doesn’t fly away in the breeze. Rebecca catches her eye and smiles softly at her. 

“Hey,” Connie says gently, catching her attention more completely. Once she has it the butch reaches over the table takes her hand, swiping her fingers over the front of the engineer’s. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Rebecca can feel her heart speed up and she squeezes Connie’s fingers hard. “I know,” she says softly. “I love you, too.”

Connie smiles so large Rebecca is afraid it is going to split her face in two. She grips her hand hard, then reaches forward and pops open her can of soda with one hand.

“Show off,” Rebecca says fondly.

The butch shrugs, gently abashed. Rebecca lets go of her hand to open her own soda, which she then takes a sip of. She rarely drinks soda, so the novelty is nice, even if it takes her a second to get used to the cloying sweetness on her tongue.

Connie reaches forward and takes a swig of her own, then reaches for half of her sandwich and takes a bite. They are just lunch meat on white bread, but Rebecca seems to appreciate the gesture none the less, especially when she finds out Connie put Dijon mustard on hers. They eat in silence, looking out over the valley and mountains beyond as bikes roar in and out of the parking lot around them.

For the first time in many, many months, Rebecca forget the struggles of her life just for a moment and lets herself be at peace.

-/-

Rebecca stops by the main office almost daily now. She has to, as the University is getting so much mail on her behalf she needs to pick it up every morning. After almost a month the stream has not let up; Louise hands her a new stack of letters (some good, some bad, some ugly) each morning. This morning, Louise has some news for her along with the stack.

“The Dean has started getting letters and calls about you left and right,” she says smugly as Rebecca looks through the letters for the obvious hate mail. The nasty ones generally don’t have a return address; she sorts those to the back as Louise talks. “I’ve been forwarding them all to his assistant, and apparently they are almost all in favor of you staying. Some of the letters were from California! Can you imagine that? Someone all the way out there in San Francisco heard about the case against you and wrote to support you.”

Rebecca thinks about the letter writing campaign the Dykes on Bikes started almost a week and a half ago now. Undoubtedly Jack had reached out to the Boston group’s sister chapters up and down the East Coast, but it seems now like she also reached out to the mother organization in San Francisco. Rebecca is a bit surprised, but supposes she shouldn’t be—she’s watched the gay community close ranks to support vulnerable members before. If the past four weeks has taught her anything, being in the public hot seat for any long period of times brings out support from avenues ones does not necessarily expect.

Still, Louise does not know that, so she simply smiles as nicely as possible and asks, “Is that so?”

“I know! I was shocked, too. But I guess everyone knows you’re a good egg and the Dean overacted to something stupid.”

That’s for certain. Rebecca makes a mental note to buy Louise a coffee in the future for her information; without it, Rebecca would have no idea what was going on in the department. Certainly nobody else is talking to her, except for Jacob, but he does not know very much, either. The other faculty members are snubbing him just as resolutely for supporting her and Connie so openly.

She sighs. “Thank you, Louise.”

“No problem, Rebecca,” the secretary says brightly. “I’m sure this will resolve soon.”

She certainly hopes so, Rebecca thinks as she leaves the main office and heads down towards her own. It’s already October, and neither she nor Connie has been pulled in for an interview about anything at all. She is certain both the Board and the Dean are stalling; they had not expected such a backlash from queers and allies alike. She has a feeling they are doing some soul searching about how the negative publicity of firing her might affect the department, especially if the case gets outside of the gay community and local Boston area.

That is fine by her, although she would rather put the whole situation behind her and get Connie back in the lab where she belongs. They are suffering without her expertise; Rebecca has been asking her logistical opinions over dinner, but it is not the same. She also misses her skills as an arbiter, especially when things between Monica and Ed get heated. She simply does not have the ability to deescalate the situation without snapping like Connie does. 

Not to mention that without the butch around, the lab is very, very quiet.  She sees her at home several times a week, now, but it is simply not the same. She wants her back.

-/-

“So, Jack is hosting a house party for the Dykes next weekend and asked me to formally invite you.”

Rebecca looks up from where she is scratching baked cheese off of a pan with her nail. “Oh?”

Connie nods. “It’s a party for family and friends, which means everyone is bringing their partners. You don’t have to come but…”

“You’d like me to?” Rebecca asks.

Connie nods again.

“Do you want to show me off?” the engineer asks, a bit of a teasing lit in her voice.

“Maybe a little bit.” The butch looks a little bashful but smiles hopefully. “I’ve been talking about you for months and with the whole thing at school, they’d like to meet you.”

Rebecca thinks about the letter writing campaign, still in full swings, which was started by Jack, a butch Rebecca has never even met. She owes the community a great deal. She’s not entirely sure if she misses it, but she does know she should be a better member, especially now that she is officially out at work.

Still, entering a party full of people she does not know (besides Connie) does not seem entirely appealing to her. “How many people will be going?”

Connie shrugs, unsure. “Maybe fifteen?”

“And exactly what do you do at these house parties?”

“Eat, drink, bitch about work and politics. The same thing most people do at house parties, only this one is going to be mostly lesbians, so…”

Rebecca sighs. “Maybe. I’ll think about.”

That is a good enough response for Connie. She nods and continues to dry the dishes as Rebecca washes them.

.

.

.

Rebecca decides to go. After all the support the Dykes on Bikes had shown for her and Connie, it would be rude to not go, at least for a little bit. Connie says they don’t have to stay the whole time. Rebecca has a feeling she will tap out fairly quickly, but is at least game to try.

They pull up outside of Jack’s house in Somerville to find both the front of the house and the alley beside it completely parked in with bikes. Rebecca counts at least seven. And as she inspects them, curious about the hardware, she sees a familiar one. A cherry red 1970 Harley Davidson FLH is parked in front of the house by the mailbox. It’s in remarkable shape, considering its age, and still has the custom leather seats Rebecca’s ex-girlfriend had installed two months before Rebecca dumped her.

Rebecca’s blood runs cold. Connie’s words from a few weeks ago run through her brain unbidden.

_“I’ll go get a helmet for you tomorrow. A real one. No more borrowing Al’s spare.”_

There are a lot of butches that go by Al. Probably several of them ride motorcycles. She had thought that might have been the case with the Al Connie knows. But there is only one butch dyke in Boston named Al that Rebecca knows of that also drives a cherry red FLH with custom leather seats.

Rebecca has not seen Al in twenty two years. She grip tightens around Connie’s waist as they pull down the street to park.

“I see it,” Connie says, thinking Rebecca is trying to warn her about the cat hiding under the car they pull up behind. The cat shoots out from under the car like a small black streak, but Rebecca remains tense. Connie parks the bike and turns back to her. “You okay?”

Rebecca presses her lips together in a thin line and busies herself with taking off her helmet.

When she slides off the bike, still silent, Connie catches her arm for the briefest of seconds. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Rebecca hedges. What should she tell Connie? What will she find out later? She swallows, shakes her head. “I’m just…anxious.”

“Anxious?” Connie asks, taking off her own helmet. “Why?”

She does not want to talk about it right now. She says as much, then grabs her purse from the saddlebag.

Connie swings off the bike, helmet in hand, looking concerned. “Rebecca?”

“I’m fine,” she stresses, partially a lie. She knows if she gives away her reason for being anxious, and that it makes her want to turn around and leave, Connie will start up the bike again and take her back so she does not have to be uncomfortable. It is the kind of person Connie is.

But she needs to put in an appearance. She needs to reintegrate herself back into the community, even if the ‘community’ is just a few butches and their partners at a Dykes on Bikes house party. She sighs, breathes deep to calm herself, then shrugs on an air of indifference as easily as she shrugs off her leather jacket. An air of haughty indifference is one she is frequently used to wearing. 

Connie does not notice the shift at first and places a hand in the small of her back as they walk up to the house. Rebecca pulls away from the touch and gives her a sharp look over her shoulder, shakes her head no. Connie winces and stuffs her hand in her pocket instead.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Rebecca gestures at the front door. “Shall we?”

“Let’s go.” Connie heads up the porch stairs and opens the door without knocking. Rebecca trails in behind her, closing the door then following her down a hallway towards a noisy kitchen. Rebecca tries to listen to hear if one of the voices is Al.

Connie walks into the room ahead of her and is immediately greeted with boisterous abandon. Rebecca slinks in afterwards, using the excitement of Connie’s arrival to survey the room. There are a handful of butches, another handful of femmes, and a few individuals who don’t read either butch or femme, much like Rebecca herself. Most are clustered around the island bar, drinking beer or something that looks like sangria. A few are seated at the kitchen table, though, and that’s where Rebecca sees Al.

Her black hair is longer and shaved on the sides, slicked back with gel instead of sticking up like it used to. Despite the difference in her physical appearance, the intensity of Al’s dark eyes has not changed. And those eyes saw her the second she walked in. Their gazes meet and Rebecca’s ex scowls.

“Hey, Becca.”

At those two words the room quiets for a second. Rebecca draws herself up to her full height and gives the butch the look she reserves for misbehaving students. “Al.”

Connie blinks. “You two know each other?”

Al snorts. “Does she _know_ me.”

Connie has never seen Rebecca blush before; two spots of color appear high in her cheeks and her neck gets flushed.

“So for those of you who don’t know,” Connie says slowly, “this is my partner, Rebecca.”

Another butch scoffs. “I think most of us know her, Wills.”

“She’s got a thing for butches with bikes. Watch out, Williams!”

“She’s slept with at least half of us,” Al adds.

“Not me,” says a wiry butch from the corner, where she’s leaning on the counter by the breadbox. “She’s never slept with me. Not for lack of trying, mind you.”

Rebecca snaps her head towards the latest speaker, sees who it was, and scowls. “And I never will. Piss off, Max.”

The room is suddenly filled with laughter at Max’s expense. Max, for her part, takes it in stride, winking at Rebecca before taking a swig of her drink.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Becca,” Al says with a grin. “Get her a beer, Jack!”

Another butch, this one a short Asian woman with greying hair and a scar in her eyebrow, reaches into the fridge and pull out a bottle. Rebecca accepts it, thankful she has never _known_ Jack in any capacity before this moment. Al was right—now that she looks around, there are several of these women whom she has dated at one point or another, all before she was twenty five. Al had been her last before Connie…

A butch with a mohawk walks up and punches Connie in the shoulder playfully. “Didn’t know you were talkin’ about _that_ Rebecca.” Then she turns to Rebecca and says, “’Nice to see you, again, Becca.”

Rebecca nods stiffly. “Jessie.” Jessie had been the second butch she had ever slept with—they had dated for two months before Jessie had started treating her like a femme. Rebecca dumped her the following morning.

“Plenty of girls named Rebecca in this city,” Max says to Connie behind her, handing her a beer of her own. “Thought you’d just found another one.”

Al scoffs. “Another lesbian named Rebecca who works at MIT? A girl that gets in trouble with authority? I knew it was her the minute Williams started talking about her.”

“And you didn’t warn her,” Jessie said sarcastically, before winking at Connie and Rebecca. The warmth in her voice is unmistakable, but Rebecca scowls at her regardless. “Whew, didn’t miss that look.”

Rebecca has forgotten how much butches rib each other, and by default the people they are with. She got a bit of it with Connie, but a group of butches take the teasing to a whole new level. It’s a mark of how quickly they’ve accepted her back that they are messing with her so readily. She knows they are testing her so she shoots back, “I didn’t miss the way you spent an hour in the morning on your mohawk, which I see you’ve kept after twenty odd years. That’s unfortunate.”

“Jesus,” Jessie groans, slapping a hand over her heart as Al and Max laugh. “That really hurts, Becca.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Connie hides a smile by popping open her beer with the bottle opener on her key ring and taking a swig. She hands the key ring to Rebecca, who does the same. Connie watches as Rebecca takes a swig—surprisingly enough she does not grimace. Rebecca never touches the beer she has started to leave in her fridge.

Connie adds that to the list of things she is going ask Rebecca about once they get home.

Once properly reintegrated, the night actually goes fairly well. Rebecca is introduced to those of the Dykes that she does not yet know, and all of the other various people in attendance. Jack’s partner, Andrea, works at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in town, so she and Rebecca talk science for a while on the back porch. Both have a general understanding of each other’s fields, but the conversation is still more explanation than anything else.

At some point after dusk Al comes out with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Hey, Becca, want a smoke?”

Rebecca shakes her head. “I quit.”

“No shit?” Al asks, tapping out a cigarette of the carton and lighting up. “Good for you.”

“You could, too.”

“Yeah right. I’m gonna smoke until I die.” Al blows a smoke ring. Andrea excuses herself inside, leaving the two of them on the porch alone. Al leans on the railing a safe distance away from Rebecca, smoking her cigarette. Rebecca pointedly inspects the label on her second bottle of beer.

“You okay with her?” Al asks suddenly.

The engineer looks over at her. “Who? Connie?”

“Yeah. You happy with her?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m just askin’. Makin’ sure.” Al blows a stream of smoke out of her nose. Rebecca watches it spiral off into the ether. “You cut and run all those years ago, but I still care ‘bout you. Just makin’ sure she’s treating you right…although it’s Williams, so I don’t think your gonna have any problems.”

“No,” Rebecca allows. “She’s a good butch.”

Al nods and takes another drag on her cigarette. “Best road captain I’ve ever had, too. You could do worse.”

“I could be dating Max.”

Al guffaws long and loud, wheezing a bit at the end. She coughs and bangs a hand against her sternum; Rebecca worries for her lungs. When the fit passes Al asks, “You ever gonna come on a group ride with us? We’ve had a coupla them since you and Wills have been dating and you ain’t been on a single one.”

Rebecca considers it. Connie had asked if she wanted to go on the Dykes final ride of the season, but she had declined. Now, being back in the fold, at least superficially, it does not sound like a bad idea. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Al scoffs. “You used to love group rides.”

“It’s been twenty two years,” Rebecca says a bit stiffly. Then she adds more gently, “We’ll see what the spring brings.”

“Fair ‘nuff.” The butch takes a final drag on her cigarette then stumps in out in the astray on the railing. “Comin’ back in?”

Rebecca sighs but decides she had hid out on the porch enough. She nods, then follows Al back inside.

.

.

.

Connie and Rebecca pull to a stop in the alley behind her house. Rebecca instructs her to park in the guest spot near her car, then takes off her helmet as they are idling. Connie takes longer than usual with the post-ride check before she finally shuts the bike down for the night. Rebecca is not stupid—she knows Connie wants to ask questions…but this is the first time she has been nervous to.

She lets Connie collect herself and goes to unlock her basement door. Connie trails after her, eying the sputtering light above the back door.

“I need to fix that,” Rebecca says with a sigh, finally twisting the sticky lock open. “And this.”

“I’ll take a look at it for you,” the butch offers immediately.

Rebecca gives her a look over her shoulder then heads inside, through her gloomy basement and up the stairs. Connie follows after her. Rebecca goes into the kitchen and gets a glass of water. As she’s filling it at the tap her partner steps in behind her, far closer than normal, and puts a hand on her hip.

“Can I ask you something?”

The engineer shuts off the water and turns around with a wry look. “You’ve never asked to ask a question before.”

The butch scratches at the back of her head. “Yeah, well…”

Rebecca takes a sip of her water. “Whatever it is that is bothering you, you might as well spit it out.”

Connie takes the hit and Rebecca immediately winces. That had come out harsher than she wanted. She reaches out and takes her partner’s hand in an attempt to soften the blow. “What is it?”

“It’s stupid, but…” Connie pauses, hedges, as if unsure how to say it. She squeezes her hand. “How much of… _us_ is just what you had with them?”

 Rebecca had been expecting something similar. After the spectacle the others had put on when she had arrived, it was only natural. “You and I discuss the properties of thermonuclear batteries over dinner and argue about the proper application of nuclear energy to cities. I argued with them about how they treated me and the amount of times they flirted at the bars while I was or wasn’t present. Do those even begin to look the same?”

“No…” Still, the butch does not look convinced.

“Connie, listen to me. I cut ties with all of them because I was tired of the danger, but even more tired of the bullshit that came with it. Do you think I would risk my safety and career on you unless I knew damn good and well that you were different from them?”

Connie shakes her head.

“None of them are you,” Rebecca says softly. The engineer drags her thumb across Connie’s knuckles, then gives them a squeeze. “I’m not the same person I was at twenty-four, and with hindsight I know that you are what I needed then, just as how you are what I need now. And I know, or I at least I hope, that you are what I will need in the future, which is why I decided to go on a date with you after I had already said no.”

The butch sighs. “If only we had met then…”

“Well, we didn’t,” she says pragmatically. “But we have now, and that’s what matters, yes?”

“Yeah…”

“Then you shouldn’t worry, because now that I’ve got you I’ve got no intentions of letting you go anywhere.”

Connie scoffs, smiles, then kisses her gently. Rebecca kisses her back, rising gently onto her toes as Connie’s hands rub up and down her back. She cups her face and kisses her until they are both satisfied.

Eventually Connie pulls back. “Wait…how long ago did you stop going to bars?”

“About twenty years ago?” Rebecca replies, slightly confused at the sudden change in topic.

“Does that mean you haven’t had sex in twenty years?”

Rebecca scoffs and pulls away, reaching for her water again. “Hardly.”

“Who have you been having sex with then?” Connie asks, not judgmental, just curious.

The engineer pinks a bit, but resolves to be honest. “Well, when you get invited to conferences across the country or abroad…”

“Oh my God. Rebecca Gallaro has one night stands!” The butch looks a bit giddy at the fact she has found out something so incongruous about her partner’s character.

“Not often,” Rebecca murmurs, clearly embarrassed. “I haven’t had one in…” She pauses to think. “Three years. In San Diego.”

“So you haven’t had sex in three years?”

“No.”

Connie moves forward and brushes a stray curl of Rebecca’s face. “Well, we’ll have to fix that.”

Rebecca is surprised she manages to keep a grip on her water glass. She swallows thickly and puts it down in a safe location before she drops it. “Yes,” she allows, “but not tonight…”

Connie tilts her head to the side in question.

“I’m exhausted.”

“That’s a perfectly acceptable reason.” The butch leans in and kisses her anyway, brief and gentle. “Shall we head to bed?”

“Mmm, I think that is an excellent idea.”

They go upstairs, change, and slide into bed. Connie falls asleep while Rebecca is reading, so it is up to her to moderate her own page count. When her eyes burn too much to continue she leans and turns off the lamp, then settles down to sleep with the comfort of Connie’s warm, large weight depressing the bed behind her.


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ahem* NSFW....

Finally, in November just before Thanksgiving recess, the Dean’s assistant stops by her office. She’s one of the people who has stayed quiet either way about how she feels about the scandal. Rebecca does not entirely trust her, but tells her to come in anyway.

“How can I help you, Megan?” she asks, turning her full attention to the girl.

“The Dean would like to see you at the end of the day, if you have time.”

Rebecca thinks about her schedule. She supposes she can squeeze him in. “I should. Three o’clock?”

Megan checks the planner in her hands, then nods. “He’s available then. I’ll pencil you in?”

“Please do.”

“Okay, thank you.” She skirts quickly out of her office, and Rebecca sighs before returning to where she is finishing up another chapter of the textbook. She doubts she will be able to focus now, but she’ll give it a try.

.

.

.

At five ‘til, Rebecca locks up her office and goes down to the main office. Jacob catches her in the lobby.

“How’s the book going?” he asks her. All the questions anybody asks her these days are about her textbook or about her case. God she is tired of it.

“It’s fine,” she says, a bit stiffly. Truthfully, she is nervous about her meeting with the Dean. She had not been able to eat lunch.

Jacob does not seem to notice, or mistakes her stiffness for her usual formality. “Excellent, excellent. I can’t wait to read it. Looking forward to having a good textbook to recommend intrepid undergrads to.”

“If it gets published,” Rebecca reminds him.

He grimaces. “Right. Well. Let’s not think about that, hmm?”

It is kind of hard for Rebecca not to, considering. She says something to get him to leave, which works, because he heads off after the usual pleasantries. Then the Dean opens his office door.

“Rebecca,” he says, gruffly, and gestures for her to come back. She does, and sits primly in front of his desk like she has done hundreds of times before; slightly reclined with her legs crossed at the knee, one elbow resting on the arm chair. As if any other meeting, she has brought her legal pad and stylographic pen. Most men find such a posture intimidating, which is why she does it.

The Dean sits behind his desk and folds his hands on the surface in front of him. “I assume you know why I asked you in?”

“I’m assuming it’s about my relationship with my partner,” the engineer says coolly.

He is obviously still is not used to the idea; she watches him cringe a bit. “Yes, well. Yes.”

“And?”

The Dean coughs. “The Board of Trustees, after extensive review, has decided to drop the case against you.”

Rebecca does her best to hide her shock. She had fully expected this meeting to be something else entirely. She swallows and manages a cool, “Is that so?”

He nods. “Yes. That being said, you will now be closely be monitored by myself and the director of the Nuclear Engineering department. Any further sighs of impropriety and you _will_ be brought before the Board.”

Rebecca scoffs internally. Of course there was a catch. There is always a catch. It’s a good thing Rebecca has no desire to date anybody other than Connie ever again.

The Dean continues. “Colleen will resume work in your lab after the recess, should that be agreeable with you.”

“And what, exactly, is going to happen to Connie’s hours?” Rebecca asks, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at the Dean. “Since you lot have taken most of the semester to figure this out, she has missed an entire semester of experience.”

"I cannot comment on the case of others,” the Dean says stiffly.

Rebecca arches a brow. “You do realize she is still my partner and will tell me everything, correct? You might as well tell me now and save me the trouble of asking her.”

"I _cannot comment_ on the case of others.”

The engineer sighs. “Have it your way. Is that all?”

“No. We are also asking you refrain from giving any more interviews with…alternative medias, and that you not talk about this with students or staff.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Is it in your best interests to comply, is it not?” he asks with a grim smile. “Considering how much this has damages your reputation already.”

Rebecca’s eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me, Steven?”

“Of course not. Simply giving you some friendly advice.”

The engineer wants to tell him where he can shove his ‘friendly advise,’ but she is already on thin enough ice already. While she takes great pride in making men uncomfortable, it is not always wise to antagonize them directly. She will have to think of a suitable method of revenge.

“Very well. I will take it under advisement.”

“Good. I’m sure you wish to get home to your….” He pauses, struggling. “You are dismissed.”

Rebecca can’t keep the distaste for his homophobia from showing as she stands. “Good afternoon, Steven.”

He does not say it back. She leaves, lip curling in disgust. Louise is not at her desk, so she marches straight for her office. It is only when she reaches her office and closes the door that she lets the relief hit her. She slumps against the wall, closes her eyes and inhales, long and shaky.

It’s a small battle in a much larger war, but she has, for now, won it.

.

.

.

Rebecca leaves a voicemail on Connie’s answering machine telling her to come over, then leaves work early. Or at least, early for her. She almost feels guilty asking the butch to come over; she knows Connie has a long ride to Virginia the next morning to spend time with her family for Thanksgiving. Also knowing Connie, she has probably not packed yet.

But she also knows this news is too important to not celebrate, and Connie will be overjoyed.

She stops at the store and picks up some things, then goes home and starts to prepare dinner. It’s as she is simmering the chicken in wine with tomatoes and spices she hears the sound of Connie’s motorcycle pulling up in the back. She can now recognize the sound of the engine as it approaches and knows it is Connie by the amount of time the bike idles before being shut off. So it does not worry her when she hears the basement door open and the sound of Connie’s boots thump up the basement stairs.

“Becca?” Connie calls as she steps into the first floor.

Recently, Connie has taken her to calling her that. She does not mind as much as she thought she would. She covers the chicken to let it simmer and replies, “Kitchen.”

“Hey.” The butch comes in, juggling her helmet as she tries to remove her motorcycling jacket with one hand. Rebecca reaches out for the helmet and sets it on the counter, giving Connie the freedom to shed her jacket. It’s obvious she came straight from her apartment after work; she’s still dressed in her polo, khakis, and riding chaps. Her work ID hanging around her neck on its lanyard.

Once she has conquered taking off her jacket, Connie tosses it over one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter and turns to face her. She looks concerned. “Everything okay? I got your call.”

Rebecca nods and steps into her, reaches up to fix her askew shirt collar. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to tell you in person.”

“If you’re pregnant, that’s a problem, because we haven’t had sex yet.”

The engineer rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Please don’t even joke about pregnancy.”

Connie laughs and sets her hands on Rebecca’s hips, pulling her close. It’s an intimate enough embrace that it makes Rebecca momentarily uncomfortable, but not enough for her to want to pull away. “So, what’s up? What’d you want to tell me that you couldn’t over the phone?”

“The Dean called me into his office today,” Rebecca says, fiddling with Connie’s lanyard. She feels Connie’s shoulders tense just a hair underneath her fingers, so she quickly finishes with, “and told me that they’ve decided to drop the investigation.”

The butch lights up. “That’s great!” In her excitement, she hugs Rebecca, who already a bit on edge, stiffens a bit at the contact. Connie immediately realizes her mistake and releases her, taking a step back to give her some space. “Shit, sorry.”

Rebecca recovers her aplomb remarkably fast. She knows Connie just got excited and was not intentionally making her uncomfortable. “It’s alright.”

“But we’re clear?” Connie asks.

Rebecca nods. “You’re supposed to start back in the lab on Monday, if it works with your schedule.”

Connie runs a hand through her hair, looking relieved. “Thank God.” Then she pauses, looks thoughtful. “I wonder if that is what the message on the machine from the Dean’s assistant was about. She asked me to stop by tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I was going to skip tomorrow to head south, but I guess I should go now I have to go to the office.”

“I didn’t hear you say that,” the engineer says archly, turning back to the stove and pulling the lid off her pan to check on the chicken. It has simmered down.

Connie sniffs the air appreciatively. “God that smells amazing. Is it for us?”

“If you’re staying for dinner,” Rebecca’s replies mildly as reaches for the cooking wine. She unstoppers the cork then pours a bit more into the pan so it doesn’t burn. “Although I did make it with the intention of celebration.”

“I was going to stay anyway, but if _that’s_ the case…” Connie moves up behind her and places a gentle hand on Rebecca’s hip. She tips her head in acknowledgement of the touch, and doesn’t pull away, so Connie leans in and presses a gentle kiss to her neck.

The engineer flips the chicken in the liquid, then returns the lid so it can continue to simmer. “I know you have beer in the fridge, but I will be asking you to forgo it in favor of the wine I bought for tonight.”

“If you insist,” Connie teases, but does not protest. “What did you get?”

Rebecca nods at fridge, going to her knife block and pulling out a bread knife. Connie goes over to look. She pulls the bottle out to check the label, then whistles. “1984 Merlot? Shit, you bought good stuff.”

“It is a celebration, is it not?” she asks, beginning to cut the loaf of ciabatta she had bought.   And it’s not like I do not have the money to splurge with once and a while.”

Connie snorts. “We can’t all have the salary of a tenured faculty member.”

Rebecca gives her a look over her glasses than indicates she knows _exactly_ how much Connie makes as a reactor operator, and also that she knows that it is nothing to sneeze at. Connie grins at her, winks, then puts the bottle back in the fridge. “How long do you think until dinner?”

“About ten minutes?”

“Mmkay. I’m gonna wash up.”

“Alright.”

Connie goes off; Rebecca hears her take off her books, then head upstairs to use the bigger master bathroom. After several visits, Rebecca discovered that Connie hated the downstairs hall bathroom. It was too tight for her to exist in comfortably, so she often went to use the one upstairs.

A bit later, after Rebecca has placed the ciabatta bread on a plate and taken it with a small bowl of olive oil to the table, she hears Connie moving around upstairs. The butch thumps down the stairs after a moment and comes into the kitchen on socked feet. She’s changed into one of the shirts that now lives in Rebecca’s closet, a casual plaid button down that she has rolled the sleeves up on. She’s obviously washed up; her touch is cool when she brushes Rebecca’s hand, and her short hair sticks up in spikey clumps from where she ran her hands through her hair instead of drying them. She looks adorably domestic.

“How’s it going?”

“Alright. Almost done.” Rebecca checks to see if the chicken is fully cooked; it is. “Can you set the table and pour the wine?”

“Sure.” Connie maneuvers around her to pull out two glasses from the cabinet beside her, then against to get the wine from the fridge. Rebecca plates the food while Connie pours the wine and sets the table with placemats and silverware. The engineer joins her partner at the table. “This looks amazing, Becca. I feel like we should have candles.”

“Would you like me to get some?” the older woman asks, amused.

“Not this time.” Connie gives her a gentle kiss, then sits down. Rebecca joins her. As they wait for the chicken to cool, they savor the merlot and dip pieces of ciabatta bread into the olive oil Rebecca had brought to the table. As they finally tuck into the main dish Connie asks,

“Did you want me to stay tonight?”

“If you want,” Rebecca replies as she cuts a slice of her chicken breast. “I know you have to leave early tomorrow. Have you packed?”

Connie looks a bit sheepish. “Not yet. I was going to do it tonight.”

“Then I shouldn’t keep you after dinner,” Rebecca replies as Connie takes her first bite of chicken.

“Well, it sounds like I have to go into school tomorrow anyway,” the butch replies after she finishes chewing. “So I might as well stay, leave for home after, pack up real quick, then get on the road….also, this is amazing. I love when you cook.”

“Thank my grandfather. It is his recipe.”

“If you provide the séance materials, I would happily call him through to this plane of existence to tell him so myself.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “In any case, if you don’t think it will hinder your travel time too much, you are more than welcome to stay the night. I certainly won’t complain.”

It becomes Connie’s turn to rolls her eyes. “Be more excited about it, Becca, please.”

The engineer softens and reaches out, gently touching her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“I know. Me, too. It’s okay.” Connie leans in, gives her a peck. Rebecca kisses her back softly, and they take a moment to enjoy the tenderness. Connie sets her fork down and gently cups the side of her face. After a few more moments, they part slowly, stay close.

“Hey,” the butch murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Another gentle kiss and they pull away to finish dinner. Afterwards, they clean up the dishes and adjourn to the living room. Connie is surprised when Rebecca settles against her, cradling her wine glass in one hand. She does not complain.  Instead she wraps an arm around her shoulders; it is a fantastically gratifying experience to have Rebecca pull her feet up on the couch and rest her head on Connie’s torso. The butch’s thumb strokes gently along the engineer’s bicep.

After a while of sitting quietly, Connie asks, “How’s your head?”

“I took an Imitrex as I was leaving the store,” Rebecca confesses. Her head had exploded into a tension headache as she had been in produce, the result of tension relief that came from the Dean’s reveal.

The butch makes a sympathetic noise and brushes a stray curl out of her partner’s face. “That bad?” When Rebecca nods, she murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She takes a sip of wine. “I knew it was going to happen eventually.”

“And how is it now?”

“Better.”

“That’s good.”

A pause. “Should you be drinking wine on Imitrex?”

“I took it long enough ago that it shouldn’t matter.”

“Mmm, okay…”

They sit in silence for a while, drinking their wine, enjoying each other’s presence. When their glasses are empty Rebecca leans forward to puts them on the coffee table. Connie presses her lips to her hair when she returns in close.

“Is this okay?” The butch asks a moment later. “This amount of affection? I know you didn’t want to be hugged earlier.”

Rebecca nods. “I wouldn’t be cuddling with you if it wasn’t.”

Connie smiles, squeezes her shoulder. Rebecca tilts her head up, and Connie leans down. They kiss. Rebecca’s hand settles on her cheek, pulling her closer, opening her mouth a bit. After a bit of hungrier kissing, Connie experimentally tugs gently on her bottom lip with her teeth; the engineer inhales sharply.

The butch immediately pulls back and checks in. “Too much?”

Rebecca practically purrs. “Not at all. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess?” the operator murmurs before kissing her again.

They make out, slow and open-mouthed, for at least ten minutes. The two of them have kissed before, of course, but nothing for longer than a few seconds. They are almost always rushed—by work, by life, by sheer exhaustion at the events of the day. But this, curled up on the couch together, relieved of the biggest strain on both their relationship and their lives, just kissing without a care in the world...it’s heaven. Neither of them wants to stop.

They have to at some point, though. Rebecca finally pulls away. “Connie?”

“Mmm?” Connie takes in her partner’s appearance; she’s more disheveled than usual and her eyes are dark. Is she breathing harder than normal?

Rebecca’s hand fiddles with the third button of Connie’s shirt. Two of them are already undone; she is acting like she might want to make it a third. “Would you…like to take this upstairs? To bed?”

Connie’s eyes widen. They haven’t really discussed sex; the whole taking it slow thing and then the incident with the Dean and the stress of the investigation had put a damper on things. But now that the stress is lifted, and they have been together for almost six months, it seems Rebecca is ready to take the next step.

Connie is suddenly very aware of her own breathing picking up. She nods, not trusting her words.

Rebecca smiles and unfolds herself from her position on the couch with Connie, leaning down to clean up the wine. Connie heaves herself off the couch as well and follows her upstairs after they wash the glasses and put the rest of the bottle in the fridge.

Once upstairs in Rebecca’s room, Connie pulls her in again. This time their kiss melds fairly quickly from slow to hungry. Then they are backed against the wall, Connie pressing kisses to Rebecca’s incredibly sensitive neck. She relishes the moans and swears she is able to coax from her usually stoic partner. She kisses a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear and Rebecca _whimpers._

“Fuck…Connie…”

Connie can’t help but smile against her skin. She kisses then again, the pulls back. “Doing okay?”

The engineer nods, looking a bit breathless. Her hair is wild, pupils even more blown than earlier on the couch. Rebecca reaches up and starts to undo Connie’s shirt buttons.

“It’s like that, is it?” Connie growls in amusement.

“Yes. I want this _off_.”

Connie grins, then reaches down to grope Rebecca’s ass. She gasps, then growls back and undoes the last button to Connie’s shirt. She slides her hands under it without even pausing to untuck it all the way. Connie draws her into another heated kiss, squeezing the backs of her legs and her ass as Rebecca’s hands roam her torso.

It’s a little bit more of this before Rebecca’s hands slip to Connie’s belt and proceeds to undo it backwards—or try to. It’s hard from her angle. Connie pulls back and undoes it for her, sliding it from her pants and curling it careful into a loop that she sets on the floor. When she straightens, Rebecca is looking at her hungrily.

“Please let me take you in that bed,” Connie says, moving in close again and kissing the corner of her mouth.

“Who said anything about _you_ taking _me?_ ” Rebecca asks with a wicked smile. At Connie’s surprised look she grabs the fronts of her shirt and tugs her gently toward the bed, backing them up until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress.

Connie takes advantage of the stop to do some undressing of her own. She undoes the clasp of Rebecca’s bolo tie and slides it off, then starts in on her buttons. Rebecca lets her undo her shirt, then shrugs it off her shoulders. Connie takes in sudden expanse of skin with dark eyes.

“Can you take your hair down?” she asks, knowing the request is a bit selfish. Rebecca’s hair will undoubtedly get tangled during their bed sport, but Connie wants to see it. She loves her hair.

Rebecca looks surprised, but then humors her with a nod. She reaches up and pulls out her bobby pins, letting her curls down. Connie is on her in a second, kissing her next and pressing the fingers of one hand into that glorious mane of hair. Rebecca arches to the affection, reaching up and running her own hands through Connie’s hair.

“Pants?” asks the butch hopefully, tugging on her slacks. Rebecca rolls her eyes fondly and reaches down, unbuckling her belt and then sliding the clasp of her pants open with one hand. Connie’s fingers pull the zipper and then pants slide off her hips and to the ground.

Rebecca steps out of them and then backs up onto the bed, scooting into the middle. Connie looks down at her for a second, mouth dry at the site of her partner half naked and stretched out with her hair down.

“Coming in?” she asks after a moment, amused.

“Yeah, give me a sec.” Connie undoes her own belt and pants. They drop them to the floor, quickly followed by her shirt and socks. She’ll fold them later. She crawls in after Rebecca, who pulls her into a kiss the moment she gets close.

God, Connie loves it when Rebecca gets assertive like this. She had no idea she might be like this in bed, too, but wholeheartedly approves. However, she also likes when Rebecca moans, so she breaks the kiss and moves to kiss her neck again. The engineer shifts her head to the side, letting her have better access. When Connie sucks gently at her pulse point, her partner groans softly in her ear. Connie presses her thigh between Rebecca’s legs and is rewarded with a soft “fuck.”

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this with you?” the butch asks reverently, pressing up again with her leg. Rebecca moans again. Connie’s hands trace up and down her torso, squeezing her breasts through her bra. “I want to make you feel _so_ good.”

“The bra will have to come off for that,” the engineer replies, humoring lacing her words.

Her bra does come off. And then her underwear. And then Connie is between her legs, doing things with her mouth that should not be legal. It’s very evident to Rebecca that Connie’s mouth is possibly her best feature—it asks questions, it comforts, and it does _this._ When Connie adds a finger to her ministrations, it is practically over. She lasts a few strokes and presses before her breath catches and she soars, her body arching off the bed as her orgasm finally breaks over her like waves on the beach.

Connie keeps going; Rebecca’s legs quake from the extra stimulation. It’s too much. She reaches down and tugs on her hair. “Connie…that’s…that’s enough.”

The butch pulls away, gently removing her finger from inside of her. Rebecca relaxes back into the pillows, covering her eyes as she recovers. She feels Connie’s lips press against the soft skin of her inner thigh, then she moves up.

“Okay?” she asks softly, leaning in to kiss her gently.

Rebecca recoils almost as soon as their lips connect. She can smell and taste herself on Connie’s lips; the combination makes her nauseous. “Connie…”

“Mmm?”

“That was wonderful but…for God’s sake go wash your mouth.”

The butch looks down at her in amusement, then chuckles. Rebecca is glad she is more amused than hurt. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She pauses, looks up at her, attempts to look sorry. “Please.”

“Alright.” She drops a gentle kiss to Rebecca’s chest, then pulls away and goes to do as requested. When she comes out of the bathroom Rebecca is waiting, her dressing gown wrapped around her.

“I haven’t forgotten about you,” the engineer tells her, leaning in for a brief kiss before slipping past her into the bathroom. Connie goes to lounge on the bed and wait. Rebecca reappears a few minutes later; as she approaches the bed she loosens her robe and slides into bed next to her.

Connie pulls her in for a proper kiss. Rebecca kisses her back, long and languid, cupping her face. When they part she murmurs, “I believe it’s your turn now…”

The butch shivers softly at the tone in her voice. “If you’re up to it...”

Rebecca scoffs at the idea of _not_ being up to it and kisses her again. She explores every inch of the butch and discovers that she has a tattoo on her upper left hip. It’s a radiation symbol inscribed within a cog. Rebecca loves it. She traces the black ink for a long time before she finally moves on to press her fingers between Connie’s legs.

The butch comes to pieces under her touch. Rebecca finds out exactly how she wants to be touched, then does so until Connie peaks. Right before she does, the swearing is extensive and rather loud, but as soon as the orgasm hits her she goes quiet. Her body jerks hard several times as she peaks before she curls around her. The low, guttural moan she makes as she buries her face in Rebecca neck makes her want to start a round two right then and there. She loves seeing this big strong woman almost completely at her mercy. She loves being able to give Connie back everything she has given to her.

When Connie finally recovers Rebecca can tell because her neck is suddenly being kissed. The engineer gently strokes her partner’s leg, where her tattoo is. “Alright?”

“You are phenomenal,” Connie murmurs against her skin before pulling back to kiss her on the mouth. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Rebecca actually does smile at that, soft and gentile. She brings a hand up, strokes her thumb along Connie’s cheekbone. “You aren’t bad yourself…”

Connie kisses her gently, then pulls away. Rebecca mourns the loss of her warmth as she pads to the bathroom. When the butch comes back, Rebecca has rearranged herself under the covers and the bedside table is on. Connie looks around the floor for her boxers; her partner eyes her appreciative from the bed as she puts them back on.

Connie catches her staring and winks. “See something you like?”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “Shut up and come to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Connie flicks the lights off then crawls under the covers on what has become her side of Rebecca’s bed. Once in, she scoots closer to her, but does not press into her personal space. “You gonna read before we sleep?”

“I think sex was decompression enough for the night, don’t you think?”

Connie chuckles. “Bed then?”

“I think so.”

“Are you up for more cuddling?”

Rebecca looks at her hopeful face and leans in, kisses her gently. “I wouldn’t mind tonight, no.”

Connie grins. “I hit the jackpot tonight. Good news, amazing dinner, cuddling, sex…what more could I want?”

Rebecca lets out a little puff of air through her nose in exasperated amusement, then rolls over and turns off the light. When she turns back over, Connie is there pull her into an embrace. She settles there and Connie presses a soft kiss to her hairline. Rebecca presses one to her jaw, then rests her head on her chest, letting Connie hold her close as they start to fall asleep.

-/-

Having Connie back in the lab after Thanksgiving is strange. Wonderful, but strange. She actually starts in December, after she talks to her boss a Pilgrim. Her late semester interlude throws a bit of a wrench into the lab—they had managed to muddle through without her for so long that having her back in the last three weeks of the semester disengages their delegations in all the wrong ways.

Connie figures this out fairly quickly so she stays out of the way of the project. Instead she helps Rebecca research for the last few chapters of her textbook and starts looking over the first few for mistakes. Her handwriting, slightly slanty and bunched together, fills the margins of her first manuscript. She makes it bleed, for which Rebecca is grateful; it means her editor will be able to focus on the important things.

One afternoon, the engineer notices her sitting at one of the work tables with the manuscript in front of her, reworking one the calculations on a piece of scrap paper.

“Did you find a mistake?” Rebecca looking over her shoulder to determine the problem in question.

Connie shakes her head. “Not yet. Just making sure they are sound.”

“You believe I’d make a mistake?”

“I believe you’re human just like everyone else,” Connie replies, looking up from the manuscript with a toothy little grin. She’s wearing her reading glasses; Rebecca’s heart flutters.

They’ve set up rules about not being obvious about their relationship in the lab, for the sake of pretense if nothing else, but goddamn there are some times when Connie says something intelligent and Rebecca just wants to kiss her then and there. She’s not a very physical person, but she’s found several exceptions when it comes to Connie, who is. She manages to restrain herself though; she nods, then goes back to her work station and leaves her to it.

-/-

The fall semester ends, and Connie hangs around in the lab. She has hours to finish—much to her distaste. She has already been pushed back a semester because of some credit mishap that required her to retake a bunch of classes. She was to graduate in the spring, but because of the scandal it looks like her hours will be forced into the summer. She’ll be allowed to walk in May, but with the restriction she completes whatever hours she does not complete over winter break.

Rebecca and Connie spend a quiet winter semester in the lab. There is not much to do without an ongoing project, so Rebecca works on her textbook and, when Connie is not at the power plant, the butch researches for her thesis. The stack of books on the work station she co-opts as a desk is nearly a foot high. Rebecca lets her keep her kettle in the lab and makes sure she is supplies with almost endless cups of Darjeeling oolong or English breakfast as she does her work.

It’s quiet, but it works out well between them. They break for lunch and talk about their work while they eat in the Engineering canteen. A few of the faculty members are around but beyond that there is nobody else. Rebecca cherishes the time.

-/-

On a chilly Saturday evening in February Connie knocks gently on the door to Rebecca’s study, which was actually the second floor spare bedroom that she had converted into a library and home office many years ago. “Hey, Becca? Are you coming to bed? It’s almost midnight.”

Rebecca looks up from where she was editing a chapter of the textbook, then at the clock on her desk. 11:48p. She sighs and sets down her pencil. “I suppose I should.”

“Your edits can wait. Your girlfriend wants to snuggle.”

“But do _I_ want to snuggle?” Rebecca asks, taking off her glasses and setting them on her desk. She pushes back from her desk before coming over to the door, where the girlfriend in question was lounging against the door frame. “That is the question.”

“Do you?” Connie asks, sincere.

“What would you do if I didn’t?”

“Be horribly lonely on my half of the mattress. Whimper pitifully until you gained a heart.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes at her sarcastic theatrics and pats her patronizingly on the chest. “I’m sure you’d survive.”

Connie grins and leans in to give her a gentle kiss. Rebecca kisses her back, then slips past her and heads for her bedroom. Connie turns off the light in her office then follows after her. Rebecca stands in front of her side of the bed, massaging the back of her neck.

The butch slides effortlessly behind her and replaces Rebecca’s fingers with her own, massaging the places Rebecca can’t quite reach on her own. The older woman sighs in relief.

“Headache?”

“Just stiff.”

“You’ve been in there all day, it’s no wonder.” Connie shifts Rebecca’s ponytail to one side and drops a kiss to her neck. “Any progress?”

“The first five chapters that are back from the editor are done being reworked.”

“That’s something.”

“How did you fare on the thesis?”

“Nowhere close to your progress. It’s fighting me.”

“Well, we should get some sleep, then.”

Connie pulls away and Rebecca undoes her robe, hanging it up before crawling into bed. Connie waits until she turns on the lamp on the bedside table, then turns off the main light and joins her.

“Hey, can you wait a sec before you get caught up in that book?”

Rebecca looks over at her from where she was about to open to her latest page. She recognizes the serious tone in the butch’s voice. “What is it?”

Connie reaches forward and places a gentle hand on her hip. She rubs her thumb into the curve, not quite meeting Rebecca’s eyes. Over the past nine months, Rebecca has learned all of Connie’s nervous habits, and one of them is an incessant need to touch and be close to her.

Rebecca frowns and sets her book aside then moves closer to her to help her feel more comfortable. Her hand comes up to cup her cheek. “Connie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just…” The butch sighs. “When I went home today while you were working, I had the notice that my lease is up for renewal in the mail.”

Rebecca’s thumb ghosts over Connie’s cheekbone. “Are you saying you want to move in?”

“I mean, I practically have already…” She’s right. The butch is over at least half of the week, and as a result at least a quarter of the clothes in Rebecca’s closet are Connie’s now.

“When do you have to move out by?”

“April 1st.”

“Then we should aim for a moving date over Spring Break?” Rebecca asks with a wry little smile. “Although to minimize truck trips perhaps you should start bringing over the rest of your clothes?”

Connie’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Of course. As you said, you already pretty much live here already. Might as well make it official.”

The butch smiles and leans in to kiss her. “I love you.”

“And I, you. Now may I read my chapter?”

Connie squeezes her hip gently. “Mmhmm. Can I cuddle you while you wind down?”

“I suppose I’ll live,” Rebecca says teasingly, but she knows Connie needs the touch to destress so she does not say no. Instead she pulls away to roll over and gets her book from the night stand.

Connie waits for her to settle, then drapes an arm over her hip and resting her head against the curve of her spine. She closes her eyes, letting the sound of pages turning and her girlfriend’s soft breathing lull her to sleep.


	6. Part 6

Rebecca has never stepped foot in Connie’s apartment before this day, something she feels a bit bad about. However, considering Connie lives in Brockton, this is not for any particularly malicious reason, just the fact that Connie lives half an hour away from Boston. While she does have a car, Connie just happens to come into the city for class more often than Rebecca leaves the city in the general southeasterly direction of Brockton.

She still feels guilty, though. Connie has visited her after work many, many, many times over the past several months. And while she often stays the nights when she has class the next morning, Rebecca still feels bad about how far out of her way Connie has gone to spend time with her. She feels that compared to the amount of work Connie has put into driving to spend time with her, she has done very little at all in return.

Those thoughts nag at the back of her head as she steps into Connie’s small studio apartment. It’s mostly packed up already; boxes are everywhere, full of books and other things Connie is moving to Rebecca’s house. There are a few hard plastic cases that are clearly very heavy and full of tools, and some beautiful dark wood furniture that Rebecca goes to inspect.

“Those are being picked up by someone next week,” Connie tells her as she returns to taping up her boxes.

Rebecca runs her hand over the lacquered wood of the bedframe. It’s obviously handmade, as are the coffee table, table, and chairs. They’ve all been painstakingly shaped, stained, and then lacquered to protect them from gouges and dents. It has Connie’s careful craft and attention to detail written all over it.

The engineer turns to her partner. “Did you make these?”

“Yeah. Long time ago, back when my parents still had their house in Boston.”

“And you’re getting rid of them?”

Connie shrugs. “No room for them in your house. Some grad student will get a nice set of second-hand furniture.”

“But you made them!”

“As long as they go to a good home where they are enjoyed, I don’t mind,” the butch replies.

Rebecca opens her mouth, wants to argue more, but the buzzer goes, indicating the Dykes that have volunteered to help Connie move have arrived. Jack brings her pick up and together with Rebecca’s car they manage to get three-quarters of Connie’s stuff to the South End with only one trip. Max rides along with Rebecca in the car, since the truck she arrived in is now full of boxes. The pastor talks her ear off the entire way about the sermon she plans to give the next morning. Max is a nice woman, she really is, but Rebecca occasionally wants to throttle her. That thirty minute ride back to Boston from Brockton is one of those times. 

Once they get back to the town house the four of them make quick work of unloading Connie’s things into the living room. Rebecca oversees the careful dissemination of boxes and trunks around the house via Max while Connie and Jack ride back to Brockton to get the second load. She has Max take Connie’s tools into the basement, figuring Connie would like the space to work. It is not like Rebecca has been using it for anything else.

Connie and Jack come back with the next load around five, and after they unload the boxes they break to order pizza. They all stand around in the kitchen after it is delivered, talking and laughing and drinking beer. Connie’s arm does not stray from Rebecca the entire time; over the course of the evening it goes from gently touching her arm to resting the small of her back, then curving around her waist. Rebecca objects to the last one a little bit, but by that time Max and Jack are making their excuses and leaving with the remaining quarter of a pizza and a ‘good night.’

Connie squeezes Rebecca’s waist then goes to go inspect the remaining boxes in the living room. Rebecca cleans up the beer bottles then joins Connie, rubbing her tired eyes. Connie’s looking at the boxes critically, as if looking for something missing.

“Hey, Becca? Where’d all my tools go?”

“I had Max put them in the basement.”

“Trying to squirrel them away from me?” Connie asks wryly.

“No, I thought you might like the basement to use as a work shop,” the engineer replies.

The butch wraps an arm around her and leans in, kissing behind her ear gently. “So…where should I put the strap-on I’ve got hidden in one of these boxes?”

Rebecca squirms, chuckles, swats at her hand. “Under the bed, with the rest of the toys.”

Connie smiles against her skin and continues to kiss behind her ear. “I can think of a better place for it.”

The engineer shivers a bit but shakes her head. “I’m too tired for that right now, Connie.”

“You didn’t even carry most of the boxes,” she objects, but it is in a teasing way. She unwraps her arm from her partner’s waist.

“Yes, but I put up with Max most of the day.”

“...Very true. That would make even the most extroverted extrovert exhausted.”

“You see my point.” Rebecca runs a hand over her hair, then gently touches Connie’s arm to get her attention. “I am going to shower. Can you get the boxes in the bedroom unpacked before we go to sleep tonight?”

Connie makes a noise of assent and heads for the stairs; Rebecca follows after her.

-/-

The first 1995 group ride for Boston chapter of Dykes on Bikes is scheduled for the first weekend in April. Despite being deep into writing her thesis, Connie has several meetings with Jack and Max to determine the logistics for the ride. Despite all of Max’s shortcomings, she is good with money, and she handles all of the club’s finances with aplomb.

Rebecca decides to go along. She has been to several more Dykes on Bikes house parties since the first one in October. It is good for her to spend time with the community, and so far she has enjoyed the company of the group and its associates (even, on some occasions, Max).

Before the ride, though, she buys herself new chaps. She has been meaning to since when she and Connie went on their ride together, and getting glammed up for a group ride seems like the perfect excuse. Everyone puts on their finery for the first ride of the season, and Rebecca is not above wanting to look her best on the back of Connie’s bike.

“God, those look good on you,” Connie says the first time she sees her wearing them, the morning of the ride. “…Although I’m not sure if it’s the pants or the chaps.”

Rebecca knows her ass looks great in the pair of black jeans she chose for the day. With the creamy color of her chaps contrasting against them, and the way the chaps are cut, she knows exactly how she looks. It is part of the reason she chose to wear them together. She gives Connie a look that conveys exactly that and returns to twisting her hair up in as bike-friendly a manner as possible.

Her partner comes over and puts her hand on Rebecca’s waist. She leans in to give her the usual affectionate neck kiss, but this one is accompanied with a growly, “I can’t wait to take them off you tonight.”

Rebecca can’t help but suppress a shiver. “We’ll be at the hotel in Middlebury tonight…”

The butch kisses the sensitive spot behind her ear. “I know.”

“We’ll have roommates…”

“If they go out…” Connie’s eyes are twinkling. “We’ll have to be quick.”

“You know I can’t be _quick._ ”

“Then we’ll have to just get them out of the room for a bit.”

As much as Rebecca wants to be stripped of all her clothing, including her chaps, by her partner and have her entire body worshiped the way Connie does when she gets in this sort of mood, she’s not entirely sold on the proposed location of the act. The engineer is not keen on possibly getting caught by the other members of the gang; they are rooming with Jack and Andrea, which might get embarrassing if they get discovered.

It’s unfortunate they don’t have time for a round right now. Connie, as the Dykes’ road captain, has to be at the meeting location earlier than most. They have to leave in ten minutes.  

“We’ll see,” she tells her partner, then finishes up her hair despite Connie’s proximity. “I reserve the right to decide once we get there.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Connie kisses her neck one final time, then pulls away. “Gotta do the final pack. Meet you downstairs?”

“Mmhmm. I shouldn’t be more than another five minutes.”

“Mmkay.”

Connie heads off downstairs to pack their clothes for the night and the magic bag into the saddlebags on her bike. Rebecca puts in diamond studs, does her final touches, then goes downstairs to get her jacket, boots, and purse. She locks up the house and joins Connie in the back, where she is checking all her gauges for probably the tenth time. She’s put on her official Dykes on Bikes vest—the one with the Dykes’ triangular gear logo and her last name embroidered in big white letters on the back. It’s the one covered in patches indicating her rank and time spent in Dykes on Bikes.

It’s a good vest, but Rebecca likes her rainbow one better.

Connie hears her locking up and looks up as she comes over. “Ready to go?”

Rebecca nods and puts away her purse, then collects her helmet and puts it on. “Let’s go.”

Connie does a final check, then puts on her sunglasses and helmet. She kicks the engine to life, and they roar down the back road towards a main arterial road that will take them out of the city.

.

.

.

The group meets at a diner for a late breakfast; the same diner, in fact, that Rebecca and Connie stopped at on their first ride together. It is an amazing thing to see a parking lot full of motorcycles, but it even better when their riders and passengers are almost all lesbians. All thirty-something of them invade the same diner at roughly the same time, which makes it a bit hectic for the diner staff. Thankfully this diner is used to the Dykes, as it is their usual meeting spot.

After breakfast they go out and Connie starts to disseminate maps and ride information. Rebecca watches from the curb, arms crossed over her chest as she takes in the bikers around them. She recognizes some of them, but many she does not—members who do not come to the parties, partners of bikers she has not meet before. Survey of the crowd complete, she looks back to her own partner. Conne is grinning and laughing, obviously in her element as she greets everyone and gives them their information. This is what Connie lives for, organizing these rides and making sure everyone has a safe journey along the way.

Rebecca has never loved her more.

Information disseminated, Jack yells for everyone to circle up. They do so, standing in an awkward oval in the parking lot. Connie and Jack step into the middle of it.

“Hey, everyone, thanks for coming on our eleventh annual Dykes on Bikes Boston kickoff group ride!” The bikers cheer. Jack grins. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Jack. I’m the founder and president of the Boston chapter of Dykes on Bikes. I’ll be riding at the front, next to Connie Williams, who is our amazing road captain.”

Connie waves a hand casually.

“She’s done a lot of prep work for this run, so I’m going to let her take over and give y’all the low down on what to expect today. Listen up, folks!”

Jack steps back and gives Connie the floor. Connie steps into the role easily, her usual confidence and friendliness amplified by her position. “Hey, folks, I’m Connie. I gave everyone the travel packet, but just to reiterate, we’ll be heading up 93 to 293, where we’ll be getting onto 89. Road conditions were fine as of last week and the weather report looks great, so we shouldn’t hit too much trouble. We’ll stop for lunch and gas along 89 in Vermont, then continue on our way to our final destination of Middlebury. For those of you who joined us for the group rate hotel, we’re going to be staying at the Greystone Motel on Route 7. Any questions so far?”

There is silence. Connie nods, pleased.

“Great! All of the information is in the packet but please don’t hesitate to ask myself, Jack, or Max—wave, Max—if you need clarification. Our tail gunner for the run is Jamie, who is over there with the bright blue shirt. Jamie, say hi.”

The butch in question waves from the opposite side of the oval. Rebecca has met her before; she’s a nice, friendly sort, a bit quiet, good people for sure. If Connie trusts her, so does Rebecca.

“So that’s Jamie. She’s got a bright blue bike and helmet, so she’s hard to miss. She’s also a trained EMT, so she’ll be taking care of you if you break down, wipe out, or get separated from the group.

“If nobody has any other questions, we’ll get in formation and start the ride. Fall in line however you want to. We’re riding singles today, just like normal. Watch out for each other and be safe out there. Ride smart, safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Let’s all get to Middlebury in one piece and have a great ride.”

“Let’s get mounted up, folks!” Jack calls. “Safe ride!”

“Safe ride!” the rest of the circle parrots, then everyone splits up to go towards their bikes. Rebecca waits by Connie’s bike as the biker in question goes to give Jamie the magic bag.

When she comes back Rebecca says, “It’s almost like you know what you’re doing.”

Connie chuckles. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Are we getting going?”

“Yeah, we gotta pull up to the front and get ready to lead.”

Rebecca stays off the bike until Connie has backed it up and pulled it alongside Jack’s, near the entrance to the diner. The engineer fallows on foot and greets Andrea, who is also standing to the side of the drive waiting for things to work out. Connie and Jack stand by their bikes, watching the line of bikers take shape. Rebecca watches, too.

Finally, she sees Jamie signal from the back on the line. Connie signals back, and the more experienced bikers kick their bikes on, recognizing that they are about to leave. Connie motions for her to come over and get on, so Rebecca goes, snapping on her helmet as she goes.

“Ready?” Connie asks over the roar of engines.

Rebecca nods. Together they get on the bike and Rebecca curls her arms around her tightly. Jack signals to Connie, who pulls forward a bit. She’s now in charge of the ride. A few more hand signals pass between her and Jamie before Connie revs her engine several times then pulls out of diner parking lot and onto the main road.

There is something special about being at the front of a line of twenty plus motorcycles. Something exhilarating, if slightly deafening, about being just able to hear the engines roaring over the wind in their ears. The way Rebecca sees the string of bikes pull into a merge in the mirrors, one after another until they have all shifted from one lane to another. The thought that Connie is the one basically responsible for the organization of this makes Rebecca grip her tighter, digging her fingers into the fabric of her shirt.

A little past one they take an exit off the interstate, after which they pull up to a gas station. Conveniently next door is a Denny’s, their lunch stop. It is not exactly the pinnacle of food experience, but most of the bikers are there for the ride, not the cuisine. Connie lets Max pull ahead to start the gas transaction so everyone can fill up before lunch. Connie gets fuel first, then heads over to the Denny’s to let them know they’ve got a large group coming in.

“Doin’ okay?” Connie asks as she and Rebecca are seated in a booth. Rebecca nods. “Enjoying the ride?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? I love it up here.” Connie watches a few other bikers file in and, convinced her ducklings will all find their way into the Denny’s eventually (either voluntarily or herded in by Max or Jamie), turns her attention to the menu.

Rebecca is not fond of Denny’s particular brand of food, but she orders a club sandwich and coffee and hopes for the best. Connie orders pancakes, bacon, and eggs despite it being almost two o’clock.

A few bikers pass by their table and pat Connie on the shoulder as they walk by, nodding to Rebecca only after they’ve greeted Connie. A few of them look her up and down appreciatively. Rebecca rankles; she did not dress up for them.

Connie sees her irritation and reaches forward for her hand. “They don’t mean anything by it, Becca.”

“I hate it.”

“I know.” She squeezes her hand. “You’ve got the rest of us trained out of it, though. Give it time and you’ll get the rest of them trained, too.”

Rebecca snorts. “That’s for damn sure.”

“I’ll talk with them later,” Connie offers.

Rebecca nods. Their coffee and tea come, and Rebecca pours four or five creamers into it until it becomes marginally acceptable for consumption. Connie sips at a cup of mediocre English Breakfast and counts heads.

“Everybody in?” the engineer asks.

“Everyone but Max, and she’s probably paying for the gas. Jamie will order for her.”

Rebecca hums. Connie watches her watch the bikers in the Denny’s. She wonders what she is looking for.

“Hey, Becca?”

Brown eyes turn towards her. “Yes?”

“When are we technically considering our anniversary? March, when I asked you out, or June, when we actually went on our first date?”

Rebecca looks thoughtful. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Do you have a preference?”

“I like March better than June.”

She tilts her head to the side slightly. “Why?”

“Because it was the start of it all.”

A small smile works its way into the corners of Rebecca’s mouth. “I suppose it was. And if that’s the case, I believe we missed our first anniversary.”

“I guess we did,” Connie chuckles. Neither of them seems very bothered by this.

“Shall we consider this our anniversary gift to ourselves?”

“Fine by me….and look, here comes out food. Perfect timing.”

Rebecca looks up just as the waitress arrives with their lunch. One of the best things about New England is that nobody stares at them in restaurants, not even the wait staff. She simply serves them, offers to get Rebecca more coffee, then leaves in search of the coffee pot after Rebecca accepts.

Connie reaches for the maple syrup and drowns her pancakes in it, much to Rebecca’s chagrin. “Don’t give me that look. You won’t be eating any of these anyway.”

“It’s the principle,” Rebecca fires back, taking a toothpick out of one of the sandwich pieces. Connie reaches over and steels some of her fries. Rebecca gives her an exasperated look. “ _Connie_.”

“What?” the butch asks, teasing, before reaching for her fork to cut her pancakes with. They eat slowly, knowing they have time while everyone else orders and eats.

Finally, when it seems like everyone is wrapping up, Connie gets up to make the rounds of the tables to check in with everyone, and Rebecca goes to pay. They rendezvous out by the bike. As Connie walks up, she sees Rebecca is watching the smoker station around the side of the where Al and a few other butches are having one last cigarette before they get going again.

“I know that look,” Connie says as she puts her wallet away in the saddle bag. She can tell now when Rebecca is craving a cigarette, even almost ten years after she quit. “What’s up?”

“Tense.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Connie makes a soft noise, touches the small of her back for a moment, just to show her that’s she’s there for her. “We’ll get going soon.”

Rebecca sighs, rolls her neck, turns away from looking so she doesn’t become tempted. Connie touches her hip gently, supportive, then goes off to talk with Jack, who has just come out of the Denny’s.

“How’s it goin’, Becca?”

The engineer nearly jumps out of her skin. Max has materialized seemingly out of thin air next to her. She’s wearing all black, except for the colors on her Dykes’ vest and the stark white band of her clerical collar by her throat. Rebecca has no idea why she is wearing the collar out on the ride, and right now she doesn’t care.

“I’m not in the mood, Max.”

Max waggles her eyebrows and looks past her towards Connie. “Trouble in paradise?”

Rebecca grits her teeth. “I want a cigarette.”

“Oh.” Max knew her when she smoked, and knows now that she has quit. “Why?”

“I’m tense.”

“Tense? On a day like this?” The wiry butch gestures expansively at the bikes, the Denny’s, the blue sky under which they are riding. “Are you turning into Connie? Worrying about every little detail of the ride? Because we’ve already got one micromanager, we don’t need two, especially not two that are togeth—”

“Don’t you have someplace to be?” Rebecca growls out.

Max makes a show of checking her watch. “Not until about six o’clock tonight.”

Rebecca closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “If you don’t have anything constructive to say, please go harass someone else.”

The butch takes her harshness in stride. She’s used to abuse from Rebecca. “I’ll get outta your hair then. Hey, if you need anything, lemme know, okay?”

Despite their banter, the offer is unusually sincere. The taller woman nods. Max claps her on the arm then saunters away in the direction of her bike.

Connie returns a few minutes later. “What did Max want?”

“What does Max ever want?”

Her partner snorts. “Hey, if you’re still tense by the time we get to Middlebury, you want to split off and go do something together? Give you some time to decompress?”

“We’ll see.”

“Alright.” Connie presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “The last people were paying a few minutes ago, so we should be ready to go in ten.”

Thankfully for Rebecca, they are. Connie makes a few more announcements, then she and Jack lead the pack out of the Denny’s parking lot and back onto the interstate. The rest of the ride goes by without a hitch; Rebecca relaxes some on the way and by the time they pull into the hotel outside of Middlebury, she is in better spirits.

Connie parks the bike and goes to check everyone in at the front desk. Jack pulls her bike up next to her. Rebecca nods to her and Andrea.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asks as she pulls off her helmet. “Max says you weren’t feelin’ too hot back at the Denny’s.”

“I’m fine,” Rebecca replies, a little stiffly.

“Sure? If you need painkillers or something, I’m sure Jamie has something.”

Rebecca waves them off. “Thank you for the concern, but I’m fine. Really, Jack.”

“She’s just a worrier,” Andrea demurs, patting her partner on the arm from behind her. Jack twists her head and smiles lazily back at her.

The engineer restrains a chuckle; she’s got one of those of her own, so she is well aware of how a worrier looks and acts.

Connie arrives a few minutes later with a handful of room keys in sleeves. She hands it to Jack. “104. It’s around back.”

“Thanks, Wills.”

“Becca, I’ll be back in a few to move the bike. Sit tight?”

Rebecca nods.

Connie smiles. “Be right back.”

She heads off to distribute the rest of the room keys. Once back, she gives Rebecca’s leg a gentle squeeze before starting the engine of her bike up. They pull around the side of the building until they find their hotel room. Jack and Andrea already have the door open and are unpacking their saddle bags. Rebecca and Connie dismount and do the same.

“Good ride,” Jack says as they sit around the hotel room after they are done unpacking. Connie agrees.

Rebecca has claimed the table and chair and is sitting in it with her legs crossed, arm propped against the table a bit imperiously. Connie is sitting on the bed that was decided is theirs, watching her.

“We’re gonna go get some grub in town,” Jack continues. “You guys want to come with?”

Connie looks at Rebecca. She tilts her head, raises her eyebrows. Connie nods in her direction.

“Yeah, but we’ll catch up with you. It’s not a big town, we’ll find your bike.”

Jack nods, and she and Andrea stand. “See you in a bit. We’ll try to snag a few other people on the way out.”

“Sounds like a good time. See you soon.”

The other couple makes their way out, leaving them alone in the room.

Almost as soon as they are out the door Connie moves in front of Rebecca, kneeling. Her hands find her calves and stroke up and down the smooth, cream-colored leather of her chaps. “How are you doing?”

“Better.”

“Really?”

“Mmm.”

The butch leans in, gives her a kiss. Rebecca cups her face, coaxing the kiss deeper. Connie presses on carefully, letting her take the lead, but eventually pulls away to check in. Her hand gently brushes across her partner’s thigh.

“Did you want…?”  Connie looks back at the bed.

“I want to decompress,” Rebecca clarifies. “But also…yes.”

Connie smiles against her skin then kisses her neck, once, twice, three times. Her mouth drifts up to the sensitive spot behind her ear and she kisses there are well. Rebecca’s breath hitches.

“You want to make love.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Connie knows the kind of sex she likes when needs to come down, and either does not have the time to read or does not want to.  The engineer makes a soft noise of affirmation that yes, that is exactly what she wants.

Her partner grins. “I think we have time for that.”

.

.

.

They end up being late for dinner, but neither of them cares.

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. After they return back to Boston the next day, Rebecca decides she can handle the stress of the travel and amount of people that come with Dykes on Bikes group rides. She says she will go on the early summer one, much to Connie’s delight.

-/-

Connie walks across the stage in June, despite not having finished her graduate service hours. She is being allowed to walk in the ceremony under the condition that she finishes out her hours.  The butch is still a little bit bitter about having to return over the summer, but she is happy to have the chance to walk.

Rebecca, being faculty, watches her ‘graduate’ with her Masters from the stage. Connie gets a loud round of applause from her fellow graduate students when she accepts her fake diploma. Rebecca is proud of her, even though she will not technically be done until August. The engineer knows how hard Connie has worked for the degree while juggling her job, their relationship, and her Dykes on Bikes duties.

 Afterwards, when the audience and graduates have poured out into lobby and are mingling, Rebecca catches Connie in front of everyone and pulls her in for a kiss. Connie is surprised but rolls with it, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. Most of the department knows their story by now, so a good number of supportive students, staff, and faculty cheer as Rebecca cups her partner’s face and Connie kisses her with abandon.

It’s an incredibly out of character move for Rebecca; normally she would never do something so publically, but the kiss is a calculated one. She makes sure to do it right in front of the Dean in Engineering and the Director of the Nuclear Physics Department.

When they finally pull apart, Rebecca catches a glimpse at the Dean’s face: it’s priceless.

“Not that I didn’t enjoy that,” Connie murmurs in her ear, dodging the tassel on Rebecca’s academic tam to do so, “but did you really do that just to spite him?”

Rebecca plays it coy. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Connie laughs, wraps an arm around her, squeezes her through her doctoral robe. Rebecca, awash in smugness, lets her do so in front of the crowd without complaint. 

 


	7. Part 7

Rebecca can make a device that harnesses nuclear energy blindfolded, can read any engineering blueprint set in front of her, and can generally build anything electrical from scratch. She is marginally good at mechanics and simple household maintenance, but her skills are nothing to write home about. So when Connie conscripts her into helping make the basement a better space for her workshop, she goes into it knowing she has a lot to learn.

In college (the first time), Connie worked in construction to pay her way through, so she rips out the old basement floor like a pro. She teaches Rebecca how to mix, pour, and float concrete; Rebecca has always known in theory how it was done, she has just never done it before.

It’s grueling, messy, time consuming work that takes a long Saturday to complete. They mix endless wheelbarrows of concrete in their parking spaces behind the townhouse. Rebecca’s shower becomes grey with grit after both she and her partner take long, hot showers that soak the concrete off their bodies.

She makes Connie scrub it out.

It takes Rebecca days to get all the bits of sand and concrete dust out of her hair.

Despite the hardship, once the floor has cured, and they seal and wax it, the floor is a thing of beauty. Rebecca can see why Connie likes to work with her hands.

Over the course of the next few months, the two spend the weekends they aren’t riding renovating the basement. They install new lighting, which takes their combined knowhow to figure out the electrics. Neither of them have ever wired to this extent. They get it working, though, and fill the space with lights so it is no longer sad or gloomy.

Once the space is well lit, they replace the old laundry sink with a new one and paint the cinderblock walls a light grey to make the space seem brighter. Rebecca harps on Connie about the cleanliness (or lack thereof) of her tape lines, so Connie retaliates by smearing paint across her cheek. Rebecca rolls her eyes and wipes some of it off on her; the finish the room with paint on their faces.

When the paint dries and the basement airs out, Connie gets all of her tools out of where they have been living in Al’s garage. They begin their work on building a perimeter of shelves and work tables for the new shop. Rebecca’s one life flaw is that she never learned to use power tools, so Connie gets her familiar with all of the ones she owns. Connie sets her up for her ‘practical exam’ in the parking lot. Rebecca rolls her eyes so hard at the phrasing that Connie is certain she might hurt herself.

The butch has Rebecca cut the plywood tops for the work benches while Connie uses the cutoff saw to cut the main supporting members. They blow a breaker for the house using both tools at once; it’s a dark grope around the basement to find the breaker box.

The engineer learns to wear a bandana over her pinned up hair to protect it from the sawdust. Connie adores the look, even if Rebecca hates it. She insists on kissing Rebecca whenever she expresses her distaste for it.

The basement is finally done by the end of summer. It is better than anything Rebecca would ever have imagined, and certainly better than anything she could have ever paid anybody to do. Connie is overjoyed; she works on her bike or with woodworking projects after the weather gets too cold to go on rides on the weekend. She loves having space to tinker again, which means Rebecca is happy that she is happy.

After all the things Connie has done for her, she is glad she could have done this for her. She is glad she could have helped her make it into the space she loves. All of the work is worth it just to see Connie disappear before or after dinner stressed from work or school only to reemerge with a weight off her shoulders.

-/-

They fall into an easy rhythm living together that they practice for years. Connie fits into Rebecca’s life so easily it is hard to imagine a time when she was never there. She wakes up before Rebecca to cook breakfast. Rebecca comes downstairs every morning to a perfectly brewed cup of Boston-style coffee and whatever her partner has made for breakfast. Connie leaves for Pilgrim by six thirty, leaving Rebecca to do the dishes and take a shower before she heads into the lab.

With Connie’s promotion, that comes in part thanks to her new degree, it is sometimes indeterminate when she will get home. Rebecca stays home late at the lab, too, so they simply settle on the rule that whoever gets home first cooks dinner. They wash up the dinner dishes together, then Connie takes a shower as Rebecca winds down for the night with her book. Rebecca secretly adores the moments when Connie comes out of the bathroom with damp hair and crawls in to bed to kiss her goodnight.

She never thought for a moment she could love someone like this. She thought she would live out the rest of her days in solitude, a blur of graduate students and faculty members the only company in her life. But now she has Connie, and the Dykes. She never thought someone could love her the way Connie does, but even as they reach their fifth year together, Connie still finds ways to surprise her.

She orders a bottle of her favorite wine imported from Italy for their anniversary. She helps her oil and polish all of the dark wood in the house once a year.  She searches for a new shampoo for her after Degree stops making the kind that works best with her hair. She organizes a group Dykes on Bikes ride to Washington D.C. so Rebecca could have an excuse to attend the Millennium Pride Festival and the accompanying Millennium March on Washington.

Rebecca loves her, and as the push for gay marriage starts to build, she starts to think about it. What it might be like to marry Connie. What it might be like for them to wear rings and file joint taxes and be able to say ‘wife’ when they refer to each other instead of ‘partner.’ She’s not entirely fond of the institution of marriage, because it reeks of heteronormativity which she hates it, but she would like the option of choice.

Connie notices her thinking about it. One night she comes into Rebecca’s office where she’s doing some research, and knocks on her door.

Rebecca looks up, glances at the clock. It’s nowhere close to bedtime. She states this.

“I know,” Connie replies, coming over and leaning on her desk. She looks down at the materials all over her desk. Legal materials. “What’s all this?”

“Research.”

“On?”

“How the gay marriage debate is working itself through the courts.”

The butch tilts her head and looks at the documents again. She’s not wearing her reading glasses so she has to squint a bit. “Thinking about throwing yourself back in the fray?”

Rebecca makes a noise that gives no real answer.

Connie frowns softly. “Becca…do you want to get married?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Hazel eyes find her own. Connie seems to understand that it is not her that makes Rebecca say that. “But you’d like the choice?”

“Mmm.”

“Fair enough.” The butch leans over and drops a kiss to her hair. “You know, if we’re ever given the chance, I’d marry you if you wanted to.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll live with you for as long as you want me. Either way, I’m in it for the long haul, just one is more official than the other.”

Rebecca smiles softly and tilts her head up; Connie leans down and kisses her gently.

“I’ll leave you to it. If you’re still up here at midnight should I come get you for bed?”

“Mmm.”

Connie nods and slides off her desk, padding off and leaving her alone with her papers.

-/-

Rebecca has been tense ever since _Goodridge v. Department of Public Health_ went to the Massachusetts SJC. She had been following the case since its inception in 2001. But as soon as the case went on to be heard by the Supreme Judicial Court, she’s stiffer than cardstock. She tries to hide it, but Connie can tell by the way she carries herself. She can also tell by the fact Rebecca comes home from the lab with headaches for a solid seven months.

There is nothing Connie can really do to alleviate it, but she tries her best. She rubs her neck and back, makes sure to pick up her prescriptions for Imitrix at the pharmacy on her way home, takes extra-long showers every night so Rebecca has more time to decompress. Connie is worried about the ruling, too, but not as much as Rebecca, who has been invested in it since the beginning.

Connie comes home one evening in November of 2003 to find Rebecca in the kitchen, leaned up against the counter. Her eyes covered with one hand and shoulders subtly shaking. She’s crying. Connie’s heart drops. She’s rarely seen her partner cry but when she does, she knows it is serious.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Connie drops her helmet with a clatter and moves forward to collect her partner in her arms. It’s a sign of how upset Rebecca is that she simply sinks into her embrace. Connie holds her close, running her thumb along the curve of the small of her back. “Becca, hey…hey…talk to me…what is it?”

“It… it passed.”

“What?”

“Five, four.” Rebecca pulls away, and to Connie’s shock, she is smiling. “Gay marriage will be legal in Massachusetts in a hundred eighty days.”

The butch’s eyes widen. “Holy shit!” She hands come up to cup her partner’s face. “ _Becca…_ ”

“I know,” Rebecca says softly, and then they are kissing. Rebecca’s hands are in her hair and they are kissing and Connie can taste the saltiness of her tears—the happy tears, she realizes—on her partner’s lips. Rebecca is crying again, and so is Connie. They pull apart when both of them are sniffling too much to keep kissing.

“Marry me?” Connie asks, softly, reverently stroking her thumb along Rebecca’s jawline.

The engineer stiffens a bit.

Connie’s fingers still. “Do you not…?”

“I do,” she says quickly. “There are just so many people who do not yet have the opportunity…the choice…”

“You want to wait?”

She nods.

“So we’ll wait.” Despite it, the butch can’t help but smile. Her fingers resume their stroking along her jaw. When she speaks, her voice is fond. “My little activist.”

Rebecca smiles a little, and does not mind the diminutive at all. She catches her partner’s hand and kisses her palm gently. She is so glad Connie understands. She is so glad they have the opportunity. She loves her so much.

-/-

They attend _so many_ weddings. Jack and Andrea get hitched immediately, on the first day possible in a courthouse ceremony that adjourns down the street to their Somerville home. The party is massive, considering the cause for celebration and the fact it is a beautiful May day. Most of Jack and Andrea’s neighbors are some flavor of queer, it being Somerville after all, so they all come to join in the festivities.

The party goes long into the evening. By the time Jack and Andrea leave most everyone is fairly drunk.  The Dykes give Jack and Andrea a royal sendoff to their honeymoon; almost thirty bikes line their street and rev their engines loudly as Jack and Andrea ride through them on their way to the airport. The gathering crowd cheers until they are out of sight.

Jamie is next to get married, then Max, of all people, to another butch she met through her congregation. Then several other people Rebecca knows from her bar days get married. And then a few people Connie knows that Rebecca only knows by name. It is a solid six months of weddings before everything even marginally calms down.

Everyone asks them when they are getting married; most people expected them to get married right away. Connie deflects most of the attention, saying they are simply waiting for the right time. Rebecca is more direct. Most people are impressed by their restraint.

It is not easy sometimes, going to the weddings and knowing that it could be them up in front of the judge or the minister, exchanging vows. Sometimes Connie’s hand finds hers during the ceremony and squeezes a bit too tightly. Rebecca squeezes back and tries not to feel too guilty. She knows how much Connie wants to marry her, and she wants to marry her, too, but she also knows how much Connie respects her decision.

All around them states are starting to pass legislation that defines marriage as a union between one man and one woman, a knee-jerk reaction to the Massachusetts Supreme Court decision. They resign themselves to waiting; it looks like they are in it for the long haul.

Then California legislature passes legislation establishing same-sex marriage and Governor Schwarzenegger vetos it.

Connie comes home to an incensed Rebecca. She’s surprised—not because Rebecca is incensed, she heard the news in the break room at work—but because Rebecca is at home at all. She was supposed to be staying late in the lab tonight, working on some deadline with her graduate students. But instead her partner is listening to the radio as she cooks dinner and pacing the kitchen angrily every time the subject of the California veto is brought up.

It would almost be cute if not for the last part.

“Hey, Becca…” Connie knows better than to attempt any sort of physical contact when Rebecca is this angry. She sets her helmet down on one of the kitchen barstools warily.

“I’m assuming you’ve heard the news?” Connie nods. “This country is ridiculous. Every time we step forward we get shoved three back. This is just like the Save Our Children bullshit in the seventies.”

Connie remembers the Bryant campaign well. There had not been a screwdriver to be had for years afterwards as gay bars protested Florida orange juice. She does not know what to say, but for once she doesn’t have to say anything at all; Rebecca just keeps going.

“—people voted for it to be legal and he veto’d it. What the fuck is wrong with him? This isn’t about you, it’s about thousands of disenfranchised AmErikans who just want the same rights as everyone else.”

Connie has never seen her this angry. Not even with the Dean after their relationship was exposed. Rebecca is seething.

“This is why people stop protesting. The fight is never over and people get discouraged which allows them to win. God, don’t these kids know anything?”

“Then why don’t you show them how it’s done?” Connie asks. Rebecca is still relatively quiet activism-wise. She attends the big marches and donates money, but is otherwise quiet, even though the old homophobic and misogynistic Dean of Engineering retired last year. His replacement is much more accepting.

Rebecca stops in her tracks and looks at her, then crosses the room to where they have a calendar hung on the basement door. She flips to the back, where the calendar for the next year is printed in tiny squares. “Our anniversary is a Friday next year.”

Connie blinks at the seeming non-sequitur. “I don’t follow?”

“Let’s do something politically charged,” the older woman says, crossing back and reaching up to fuss with Connie’s work lanyard. The butch is vividly reminded of the day she came over and Rebecca told her the case against them had been thrown out. “Something visible. Something big.”

“Okay…” Where is she going with this?

“If Romney hasn’t decided to make it illegal by then…let’s get married.”

 “I…what?” The butch is stunned. Did she just hear what she thought she heard?

“I want to get married on our anniversary,” Rebecca says firmly. “March 17th.”

“You want…to get married as a political statement?”

“Yes.” Rebecca pauses, realizes how bad that sounds. “There are other reasons, too.”

Connie can’t help but smirk at that. “And what are those?”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca says dryly. “Perhaps it’s because I’ve grown rather partial to having my breakfast made for me every morning.”

The butch snorts, reaches out, pulls her close. Rebecca slides her arms around her neck, linking her hands behind her neck. Connie looks very much like she wants to kiss her, but she doesn’t. At least, not yet.

“March 17th, huh?” her partner asks, thoughtful. “That’s only four months away.”

Rebecca shrugs. “I don’t want anything particularly grand, do you?”

Connie shakes her head. Neither of them have ever been fond of pomp and circumstance. “Courthouse wedding with reception here? Like Jack and Andrea’s?”

Her partner nods.

“We’ll have to buy wedding rings.”

“You’ll have to buy a wedding ring,” Rebecca clarifies. “I’m going to wear my mother’s.”

“Like hell I’m not buying you an engagement ring,” Connie says firmly. “I want to do this properly.”

“You want to propose?” The older woman asks, an eyebrow raised. “I do believe it is a bit late for that.”

“I never said I wanted to propose…I just want you to have one.”

“I won’t be able to wear it,” Rebecca warns. “Or my mother’s ring, for that matter. I’d be taking them off in the lab every few hours to work. They’d be mostly ceremonial.”

“I still want you to have it….” At Rebeca’s look she says softly, “Please, Becca.”

The engineer softens. She can tell it’s important to her, so she nods. “Alright. We can go ring shopping in the next few weeks.”

Connie smiles, then finally leans in and kisses her. Rebecca exhales softly through her nose, relaxes back into her arms. The butch gently nips at her bottom lip and she opens her mouth for her, lets Connie guide the kiss. She can’t believe she is going to _marry_ this amazing woman whom she has called a partner for almost twelve years. It’s finally going to happen.

-/-

After four different stores they finally find the right ring; a thin and tasteful band with a small diamond and accent filigree that almost perfectly matches her mother’s wedding ring. Once they have the ring, they figure they might as well have some fun with it. That fun comes when Jack hosts a Christmas party for the Dykes in early December. It’s a potluck-style with a request to bring at least one dish and a container of alcohol. There’s all sorts of food, including hard cider and six different kinds of beer. Most of the old guard is there, along with their partners, but there are a few new faces, too.

Rebecca knows it is coming. She knows the ring is in the pocket of Connie’s slacks, but the butch refuses to tell her when she’s going to ask. And despite the fact she’s in on the whole thing, she’s a bit nervous. She knows they will get nothing but support, but the anticipation is killing her.

After socializing, the group finally gets around to eating. They serve themselves from the containers on the counter, lining up to put everything on their plates.

“What’s go you so on edge, Becca?” Al asks as they are waiting to approach the food.

“On edge?”

“Yeah, you’re all tense,” Max says, scrunching up her shoulders in an imitation of Rebecca’s.

Rebecca flips her off, causing both Max, Al, and Max’s wife Sam to laugh. Al’s question is forgotten; they fill their plates, and head out into the living room, because the kitchen is too small for them to all eat comfortably. They all sit on couches and chairs and the floor, carefully balancing food and alcohol and silverware on their laps.

Connie is one of the last ones to finish serving herself. She comes in, looks around to see that everyone is settled, then catches Rebecca’s eye. She winks, then asks the room at large, “Hey, before we get started, can I say something?”

Everyone looks up obligingly. Connie waits to make sure she has everyone’s attention, then turns to Jack with her food. “Can you hold this?”

Jack takes the plate, bemused.

“Thanks.” Connie turns back to the group of Dykes and their partners. Butterflies have erupted in Rebecca’s stomach. “Hey guys. So we’re all a family here, and I can’t say how much that means to me. We’ve all been there for each other when things get hard, propping each other up and supporting each other no matter what.”

A few heads nod.

“Twelve years ago, the Dykes stepped up when my life went to hell for several months and everyone rallied around me and Rebecca when academic assholes were threatening to fire her because she was gay and we were dating. Jack got everyone to write letters to the Dean, and before we knew it, people we didn’t even know were writing in to support us. Without you guys, I don’t know if Rebecca would have kept her job. I don’t know if I would have been able to get my Masters. We owe you all a lot, which is why I wanted you to see this.”

Connie turns to Rebecca and fishes in her pocket. Andrea gasps, covers her mouth. The last thing Rebecca sees in her periphery before Connie kneels before her is Jamie’s giant grin.

“Dr. Rebecca Gallaro,” Connie says firmly, holding out the ring in the box and looking directly at her, “would you do me the utmost pleasure of being my wife?”

The room is dead silent. Rebecca can tell everyone is holding their breath; they all know by now their position on getting married. Most of them were supportive of the fact they wanted to wait. What must they be thinking right now?

Quickly, to belay any confusion, she nods briskly and without hesitation says, “Yes.”

The room explodes. Everyone hoots and hollers as Connie grins, leans up, kisses her. Jack shouts something. Someone knocks over their beer. Everyone is suddenly on their feet, hurrying over to them, hugging them, slugging their shoulders, shouting in their ears.

It’s a little bit much for Rebecca.

“Okay, this was not an invitation to invade my personal space,” she snaps as she and Connie finally are able to separate. “Back off.”

Thankfully, everyone just laughs and pulls away, giving them space. Connie slips the ring from the box and onto her finger. Everyone cheers.

“It matches my mother’s ring perfectly,” Rebecca says sardonically. “How could you possibly have known?”

And then, all at once, the Dykes realize they’ve been had.

By the time the ribbing is done, and they’ve announced the wedding plans, and the cleaning up of spilled beverage is done, the food is cold. Nobody really cares except Max, who complains a bit and is promptly gets told to get a grip.

Rebecca spends the night with the ring on her finger. The diamond catches her eye with its sparkle and the metal feels foreign on her skin. The ring clinks against her glass as she drinks. She tries to enjoy the novelty while it last; she will not be able to feel it often, considering she won’t be wearing the ring to work.

She never understood engagement rings before. She thought of them as the denotation of woman’s status as property under the patriarchy. But now, she realizes, as a gay woman, by wearing a ring she is changing that definition. It is no longer a symbol of oppression, but a symbol of commitment. After twelve years, she already knows that Connie loves her and is willing to stay with her forever, but the rest of the world does not.

Their marriage will not one of ownership or power imbalance, but rather of teamwork, love, support, and communication. Nothing much different from their current relationship, really. They are just using a very official piece of paper and a ring to provide a tangible a way of showing those things.

That is what queer people are really fighting for, Rebecca muses as Connie slips her arm around her waist. The ability to respect and love their partner in public, instead of just in private.

And that is a message she can throw herself behind.


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Enjoy!

They send out wedding announcements in the first week of January, after Connie and Rebecca drive down to Virginia for Christmas and announcement their engagement to Connie’s family in person. It goes better than expected. Only one relative is weird about it, but the rest take it in stride.

Rebecca has been in and out of enough Williams family gatherings over the years that most people in the family know her and think she is a good fit for Connie. Besides, it is not exactly like they rushed into getting married. All three of Connie’s brothers say they will attend, which is enough for Connie.

Most of their queer friends also RSVP immediately.

“You’re permanently breaking my heart, Becca, getting hitched to Williams,” Max teases as she hands Rebecca an envelope. She’s dropped by the townhouse after work to hand-deliver her RSVP to the reception.

“You have a _wife_ ,” Rebecca scolds, but takes the envelope anyway.

“And I love her very much,” the pastor replies seriously. “But everyone knows you were my first love.”

“Go _home,_ Max,” the engineer says in exasperation, but she’s hard pressed to keep from smiling.

The butch winks. “I can ordain if you want.”

Rebecca gives her a look over her glasses. “Don’t push it.”

“Okay, okay.” Max grins and her and starts back down the stairs towards her bike. “See you ‘round, Becca.”

“Good _bye_ , Max.” But it’s fond, and they both know it.

.

.

.

They hire Jamie’s wife, Erika, who is photographer for the gay newspaper, to take the wedding photos. Erika has clearly never been more excited to shoot a wedding in her life, from all that she has heard about Rebecca and Connie from Jamie.

Neither Rebecca nor Connie have interacted much with Erika, as she is a bit of an introvert. She never attends house parties and is more interested in taking photos of their group rides than actually participating in them. However, both Rebecca and Connie have seen her photos in the paper and up on the chapter website. They know how good she is, so they take the chance. 

.

.

.

They never hear back from the wedding announcement Rebecca sends to the ex-Dean, but they did not expect to, either. Rebecca had mostly sent it out of spite.

Jacob agrees to come, though, as does Louise. Most of the Dykes RSVP as well. Their reception caps out at about thirty people, between the Dykes, Connie’s family, and Rebecca’s coworkers. Rebecca is thankful their house has enough room. Per courthouse rules, only Jack, Andrea, and Connie’s brothers are actually going to be present for the ceremony, but afterwards they will to adjourn to Rebecca and Connie’s house for the reception.

 Rebecca tries not to worry about it. It is not a complicated plan. She just tries to focus on herself and Connie, because she knows everyone else will sort out around her; it always does.

-/-

She has to leave the lab early the day of the wedding. When she gets home, Connie is not home but Andrea is. The femme is ostensibly there to help, although it is not like she needs much of it. The outfit she is wearing for the wedding is simple, a white pant suit she already owns and a black button up. Rebecca does not want much fuss, but she has it on reliable account from Andrea that soon she will be too anxious to drive herself or do her own make up without shaking.

So she submits to Andrea’s expert advice and lets her do her make up. The eye is smokier than Rebecca would normally do, but she thinks it looks good regardless. Despite Andrea’s offer, Rebecca insists on putting up her own hair. After some deliberation, she puts in twinkling diamond studs in all four of her earlobe piercings, as well as a bolo tie with silver tips. Then she gets dressed.

“Connie is going to die,” Andrea says excitedly as she sees Rebecca for the first time since she has completed the ensemble. “You look great, Rebecca.”

The engineer lets out a soft harrumph and straightens her cuffs. “It’s all a lot of fuss for less than five minutes in front of a judge.”

It’s such a Rebecca thing for her to say that Andrea can only laugh. The femme collects up the manila envelope full of all the documentation Connie and Rebecca needs to have with them. Then the two of them head for the district court downtown.

Jack, Connie, Connie’s brothers, and Erika are milling about outside under the entry arch, waiting for them to arrive. Connie stares in wonder as Rebecca and Andrea cross the plaza.

“You look great,” Connie mouths as they get closer.

Connie does not look too bad herself. Her hair is carefully styled, and she is wearing a simple white shirt and black slacks with a white suit jacket, but no tie. The top button of her shirt is undone; Rebecca can just see the dark outline of her partner’s favorite necklace underneath it.

Rebecca greets everyone as they arrive. Jack is looking properly put together in a checked shirt and slacks, and all three of Connie’s brothers are wearing ties.

“What do you say?” Connie asks. “Ready to go get married?”

Rebecca nods. Yes. Yes she is.

.

.

.

They spend more time waiting to get married than it actually takes to get married. Erika’s camera starts clicking the second they step into the court house. There are clicks as Rebecca and Connie check in. When they look over their documents while they wait. While they fill out the necessary pre-ceremony paperwork together and pay the magistrate fee. The moment when Connie’s hand settles on Rebecca’s knee while they sit and wait to be called. Another set as Jack cracks jokes that get everyone laughing.

Erika documents it all, and Rebecca is grateful because all of a sudden she can’t focus on anything. If someone asked her to explain the simple basics of nuclear physics at that very moment, she would not be able to. She feels ridiculous, being nervous about this, but she just wants to get it _done_ and have it official.

Finally, their number is called, and they file into a small courtroom. They exchange brief vows in front of the magistrate, and Jack hands them the rings, which they slip on. The magistrate requests they kiss, and they do.

And then, with a few strokes of a pen, they are married.

.

.

.

Their house is full of people. Rebecca’s house has not been full of people since she was little, when it was still her grandparents’ house. It is strange to have people milling around, drinks in hand, talking and laughing in her usually quiet home.

It might be strange she doesn’t _hate_ it. In fact, she almost likes it.

Connie’s hand gently brushes against her back as they talk to the butch’s brother, Mike, about his job in the federal government. When Rebecca leans back into the touch, Connie wraps her arm around her waist. Her wife’s new wedding band, a plain silver one that matches both Rebecca’s rings and Connie’s preferences, clinks against the neck of her beer bottle.

Her wife. Her wife her wife her wife her wife _her wife._ Connie is her _wife._ Her stomach flutters just a bit. Rebecca is not one for an overabundance of sentiment, but right now, she thinks it might be justified.

Rebecca reaches down, gently touches Connie’s hand with her own. Connie looks over at her and smiles. Rebecca’s lips twitch upwards, too.

(She dimly hears Erika’s camera shutter click, and knows the moment is recorded forever.)

“Okay?” Connie asks softly.

The engineer nods. She is more than okay.

-/-

“Have you seen _The Tech_ this morning?” Louise asks as Rebecca steps into the main office on Wednesday morning to check her mailbox.

“I haven’t,” Rebecca allows, going behind her to grab the contents of her mailbox and then coming back.

Louise rustles in a drawer of her desk and comes up with the newspaper. “Here, I saved it for you.”

Rebecca takes the paper the secretary offers up. On the page it is folded open to, a small column by the diversity section of the paper catches her attention.

 _“MIT_ _Professor Accused of 1993 ‘Lesbian Impropriety’ Marries Partner of 13 Years”_

Rebecca looks up from the article with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, it gets better,” says Louise with a smile. “Read it.”

Rebecca does.

 _“Dr. Rebecca Gallaro of the Nuclear Engineering Department married her longtime partner, Connie Williams, on Friday, March 17, 2006 in a small private ceremony at the_ _John Joseph Moakley United States Courthouse in downtown Boston. Their marriage comes thirteen years after Dr. Gallaro was nearly stripped of her tenure and position at MIT for pursuing a relationship with Williams, who at the time worked as a graduate student in her experimental nuclear engineering lab. Dr. Gallaro, 57, came out publically as a lesbian after the incident in 1994 and became the first member of MIT’s Engineering faculty to openly identify as LGBT. Williams, 55, graduated from MIT in 1994 with a Master’s of Science Degree in Nuclear Security, and has worked at the Pilgrim Nuclear Generating Station since 1980. Their marriage has been made possible by the overturning of_ Goodridge v. Dept. of Public Health _by the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court in November 2003. Massachusetts remains the only state to allow same-sex marriage._

_While neither Dr. Gallaro nor Mrs. Williams were available for comment, the staff members of The Tech extend our warmest congratulations to Dr. Gallaro and Mrs. Williams, and wish them many happy returns.”_

“Oh, that’s going to make the department happy,” Rebecca says with a barely concealed smile. “They’ve only just cemented the rumor that Connie was the only student I’ve ever taken on to mentor. I think this will raise more than a few eyebrows, don’t you?”

Louise smiles widely. “Thankfully I don’t think most students _read_ The Tech anymore.”

Rebecca shakes her head in amusement. “I don’t doubt it. May I keep this?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Louise.”

“No problem, Rebecca.”

Rebecca goes and collects her mail, then takes it and the newspaper back to her office. She can’t wait to show her wife; she’s sure Connie will get a kick out of it. She stores the mail and paper in her briefcase, then goes to open her lab and start another day in the nuclear engineering lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has supported this weird little thing. If you're sad about it ending, or curious about the other characters in the universe, I'm got a bunch of oneshots I am posting over on my work titled "stop the world, take a picture." :)


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